


a place for us

by lilabut



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Miscarriage, Sexual Content, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-15 04:20:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 34,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2215611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilabut/pseuds/lilabut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had always been a poor, miserable excuse for a guy his age. And then Ygritte had come along. If Jon had known that getting lost in the harsh wilderness of the North would change his life forever, he might not have been so eager to skip the trip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. part one . ice

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go. I've been working on this for a quite a while now, and I'm glad it's finally coming to an end. It turned into a monster I never intended it to be. This is the first of three parts.
> 
> It's set in a modernized Westeros, but there are references to pop culture, so it's all a bit of a loose setting. 
> 
> A massive thank you to Annie for reading this and being the absolute cutest.

 

there is a wall of silence in our way  
what's quiet in the voices I cannot say  
through all the walls I fought in my mind  
and your eyes are the only refuge I find

 **mikky ekko** , [a place for us](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iUoleZ9Iahk)

Jon cursed the moment Pyp had finally worn him out and talked him into going on this hiking trip. It was a stupid idea, a team building trip up North in March when the ground was still covered in snow and frost and the wind was biting at whatever small patch of skin still left uncovered.

  
Jon would have rather stayed back at his flat like Sam had done, but Pyp had been relentless. _There's girls and they'll need warming up. You need to suck up to Professor Mormont after you set the lab on fire. You need to move your arse out of your flat, mate._ The list went on and on, and finally, Jon had given in.

  
He hated every second of it. The seemingly endless ride in the car with Pyp and Grenn and their advice on girls, blaring their music for all the world to hear. Quorin's endless preaching about the threats of the wilderness and the importance of team work - he admired the man, truly. But out there in the deep snow huddling into a much too small tent, all he wanted was for the man to leave him be. But most of all, Jon was annoyed by the others.

 

In an effort for more open-mindedness or some other political hypocrisy, a handful of students from the community college had been invited on the trip. It wasn't that Jon cared what college they went to. Yes, his father's name had opened him doors and gotten him into one of the most prestigious schools in he country, but he respected the others just as much as his fellow students. What had him on edge was the tension.

  
Neither group seemed particularly happy with the arrangement, and so the already achingly long hikes seemed to stretch on forever. All Jon wanted was to leave (and maybe print that picture he'd taken of Pyp during his last birthday party and plaster it all over town, because without him he would never have agreed to come along in the first place).

  
So, of course he got lost. And whatever gods there were had not even had the mercy to put him in the miserable situation by himself, no. He was stuck in the freezing wilderness with the most aggravating girl he had ever met.

  
She was one of the community college students. He had first noticed her in the parking lot where they had all met up, flaming red hair not easily missed. She stuck with her own people much like he did, but over the last few days, Jon had overheard more than one of her nasty comment. Also, the way she talked to Quorin - interrupting him, blatantly accusing him of telling them all the wrong things, correcting him without so much as a polite word - spoke of little respect from her side.

 

After the first two days, their large group was split into five smaller groups, and Jon rolled his eyes when she was the single community college student chosen for his group, the group lead by Quorin.

  
After just one day, she ended up tripping and falling right next to him, only a few miles away from where they were to make camp that night - for once a cabin with staff and hot water and electricity.  
He knelt down next to her before anyone else had even noticed her fall, and in that split second it took her to realize who he was, he saw the way her pale face contorted in pain.

  
A twisted ankle, and harsh words from her when he gently tried to help her up.

  
_Stark, you stay with her while we walk ahead and get help. We'll be back right away, it's not far._

  
Jon cursed the moment Pyp had talked him into going on this trip even more. He shot his friend a glare, and got nothing but a suggestive wink in return.

  
When the last of their group had disappeared behind a snow-covered hill, Jon sat down next to the girl on the small rock onto which she had pulled herself.

  
_Are you alright?_

_  
This look alright to you?_ Her blue eyes were piercing, but as Jon looked at them for a moment longer than necessary, he began to think they might be capable of more softness.

  
_What's your name?_

_  
Ygritte._

_  
I'm Jon._

_  
You're Eddard Stark's bastard, right?_

  
Jon wanted to ask how she knew, but to fool himself into thinking someone would not have gossiped about it by now seemed naive even to him.

  
 _He was my father._ The pain of losing him was still too fresh.

  
She was quiet then, staring into the nothingness of the wild. But Jon looked at nothing but her. The deep red of her hair stood out against all the snow that surrounded them, her braids gone frizzy, loose curls fighting their way out and down over her shoulders. From the side, he could see the straight line of her nose and the shadows cast by her eyelashes on her freckled cheeks. And he could see her quivering lips.

  
 _Are you cold? I think I've got another hat in my backpack._ He moved to take the heavy bag off his shoulders, but she only scoffed.

  
 _I don't want your fancy hat. Why did they even leave us here? It's not far, the Halfhand said._ He knew the nickname for Quorin, but had never actually met anyone bold enough to use it. It made him cringe. _Let's go, don't want to freeze to death here._

  
She suddenly scrambled onto her feet, and Jon could hear her the pained moan she tried to hide when she put her weight onto her injured foot.

  
_Sit down, you'll make it worse._

_  
What'll make it worse is sitting here freezing my fucking foot off. If you help me, we'll be at that cabin long before they're even on their way back to us._

  
She was unsteady, and Jon really didn't want her falling over and breaking something else on his watch. He stood, grabbing her a little roughly by the arms.

  
_We'll wait for them here._

_  
You some survival expert, Jon Stark?_

_  
Quorin said to wait-_

_  
The Halfhand tells you to jump off a bridge you do that, too?_

  
Fifteen minutes later, Ygritte had worn him out, and they were heading in the direction their group had left. Jon was holding on to Ygritte to support her, but they were slow and the wind had blown away whatever footprints had been left behind.

  
 _We need to get to those hills._ Ygritte had not spoken much since Jon had groaned in defeat and given in. He thought it might be the pain of putting so much weight on her injured foot - and he could not help but think that she deserved it. Just a little.

  
_We can't go that way. It'll take you hours to climb those hills. We'll go around them._

  
The look she gave him reminded Jon of his sister Arya. _And you know where we'll end up, Jon Stark?_

 _  
At the cabin._ He sounded much more confident than he really was, but climbing those hills with Ygritte clinging to him would be a futile attempt.

_  
Have it your way._

  
A few hours later, Jon was starving, had no feeling in his hands or feet and there was no cabin anywhere in sight.

  
 _Will you finally admit we're lost?_ He was pretty much carrying Ygritte at this point, cursing her silently. It was all her fault, after all. _The sun is going down and your friends are nowhere close._

  
 _I'll find them._ If he was being honest, he could already see Quorin finding their frozen corpses in a few days time. And it was all her fault. _We'll stop here. It's too dark to go any further today._ The sun was barely visible, nothing but a red, bloody glow on the endless snow.

  
 _Here?_ Ygritte squirmed in his grasp to take in the rough plateau of rocks. _There's no shelter here._ He wanted to shake her, but instead he sat her down on the rock, icy but dry.

  
_There's no shelter anywhere._

_  
There is if you know where to look._ Her know-it-all tone caused him to prop her up a little more roughly than intended. If she knew so much about the wild, why had she insisted on leaving the one place where they would easily have been found? _The cold could kill us both. If we light a fire-_

  
 _No fire_. Jon sat down a few feet away from her, rummaging through his backpack for a blanket and some food. Pyp had the tent. Of course he did.

  
_But a fire-_

_  
No fire. I don't want any animals seeing it. I don't want to end up as dinner._ He threw a granola bar at her, and she gave him one of her looks. Over the few hours he had spent with her, Jon had come to hate those looks with a passion. She seemed too confident, and looked too deeply.

  
 _Have it your way._ He was surprised, but came to think her own strength might be growing weaker. As they ate their modest dinner in silence, he noticed her occasional sigh, the way she shut her eyes and breathed deeply.

  
Too quickly, the sun disappeared, and Jon had never been so scared in his life. He moved to lay down a few feet away from Ygritte. He had given her his blanket - she had not carried her own, lucky as they were. There had not been so much as a _thank you_ , just an annoyed scoff as she took it from him, and he would have wished for a few hours of sleep to forget she was even here with him.

  
 _We'll stay warmer if we stay close._ He stopped moving, but kept quiet at her suggestion. _I bet you'll freeze to death before I do._

  
She was probably right, and he rolled his eyes in defeat. Turning around, he laid down beside her. She was on her side, turned away from him – quiet. Jon pressed his front against her back, the warmth of her body already seeping through their clothes. Her hair tickled his nose, and whenever he breathed, he could smell the comforting scent of smoke and wood and cinnamon.

  
 _Think they're out looking for us?_ Strangely enough, Ygritte's voice was soft, quiet, her words carrying gently through the darkness.

  
_Of course._

_  
Think they'll find us?_

_  
Yes._

_  
You're brave. Stupid, but brave._ Jon did not understand this woman. Or any woman, really. But Ygritte... She was different.

  
_We'll start again at first light. Get some sleep._

  
She grew quiet, and when Jon shut his eyes, he fought hard against the flutters her scent and warmth sent throughout his body. With every breath he took, the warm, spicy scent of her flooded his nostrils, and with each breath she took, her warmth seemed to increase. She fit perfectly against him, and Jon could only imagine the faces his friends would make if they could see him right now.

  
Slowly, Ygritte began to stir against him. For the first few seconds, Jon thought she might only be trying to get more comfortable on the rough stone, or that she needed to adjust her injured foot. But when she did not stop, her hips moving in torturous, slow circles against his own, Jon's breathing began to hitch.

  
 _Stop moving._ He kept his eyes shut, the sound of his voice harsh. The pressure of her hips against his own stirred his blood, and he fought the urge to push closer to her.

  
 _I'm just trying to get comfortable._ The words slipped from her mouth as if she had no idea what she was doing to him, but even Jon understood that she was moving on purpose, aggravating him even more, teasing him the way she seemed to enjoy so much. What she planned to achieve, he did not know.

 

 _Stop it._ The friction between them grew steadily, and Jon moved his own hips away from her as far as he could manage. She did stop then, suddenly perfectly still against him, and Jon took a few deep breaths, praying for his blood to rush back to his head. Even though she was turned away from him, he could basically see the smug grin on her pretty face – when did he start thinking of her face as pretty? He took another deep breath and closed his eyes, praying for sleep to take him quickly.  
  
Ygritte had other plans. Pushing her body back against his, her hips resumed the circular movements that had tortured him before. _You're still moving._ He spat out the words, grabbing her arm to still her.

  
 _Was I? I didn't notice that time._ When he closed his eyes again, Jon could see her pleased smile, and when he stopped fighting it, the image drowned out the harsh blow of the wind, the piercing cold and the faceless sounds of the night.

 

.:.

 

Jon was only half awake, the cold wind biting at his back and face. But there was something warm in his arms, and he pulled it closer. Heat ran through his veins like fire. It was not until the warmth in his arms suddenly moved that Jon was pulled back into consciousness.

 

When he opened his eyes, the pink glow of the sun on the endless planes of snow blinded him, but that was not what caught his gaze. It was the mess of red curls that obscured most of his view.

 

He remembered then.

 

His leg had moved during the night, propped up on Ygritte's thigh, and his eyes widened when he realized that his hand was flat on her breasts. The thick layers of their clothes prevented him from really feeling anything, but he quickly pulled his hand back anyway. The movement was what woke Ygritte fully.

 

She squirmed again, and when her hips accidentally – this time he was sure it was not on purpose – pressed into his, she stilled. Jon knew exactly why, and he scrambled to his feet so quickly that his vision turned black for a few seconds. He almost lost his balance, pulling down his thick coat with nervous hands, heat flushing his cheeks.

 

 _What's the matter?_ Ygritte propped herself up into a sitting position, but Jon tried hard not to look at her directly. _Can't be the first time you've pressed your bone against a woman's arse._

 

The only other person Jon knew who was as crude as Ygritte was Theon, and he had never gotten along with him as well as Robb had. He swallowed, still avoiding her, and flung his backpack back over his shoulders.

 

 _Let's move._ His voice was still raspy from sleep, and he knelt down to grab his blanket, stuffing it silently into Ygritte's backpack.

 

 _Or it is the first time._ His hands stilled at her words, and he felt as if his face could not turn any redder. _How old are you, boy?_

 

The sound of her voice was as sleepy as his own, different from her usual sharpness, but the edge of her words drove him mad once more. _I'm not a boy._ He closed the zipper of her backpack, handing it back to her.

 

She took it with a crooked grin, pulling it onto her back. _No, but you're a virgin._ She said it as if it was the most entertaining bit of information she had heard in years, so painfully obviously holding back a laugh that Jon balled his hands into fists to stay calm.

 

 _Let's go._ He helped her to her feet, not looking at her, eyes focussed on the sun rising in the distance.

 

They had been walking for at least two hours, the sun high in the spotless sky. The exhaustion in his legs slowed Jon down even more than Ygritte, who could barely take a single step on her own at this point. They needed to find shelter, or they would end up stranded, exhausted, unprotected and even more lost than they already were.

 

 _I heard they get all swollen and bruised if you don't use them._ Ygritte spoke for the first time since that morning, her tone almost curious as she let him drag her along. The snow was getting deeper, every step achingly difficult. _Of course, maybe that's just what the lads say when they want me feeling sorry for them. As if I'd feel sorry for them._ He believed that, rolling his eyes. _Don't you like girls?_

 

 _Of course I like girls._ Jon had wanted to stay silent, to not give her the satisfaction of provoking him. But the words slipped past his lips quicker than he had even processed hers.

 

 _So, you've only got your hands to help you out, then._ He could feel her staring at him, but kept his eyes straight ahead. _No wonder you look so miserable._

 

He had enough. He had enough of Robb asking when he'd finally bring home a girlfriend. Enough of Sam smiling, telling him he'd find a girl long before he would as if that could somehow made him feel better. Enough of looking at couples eating each other's face right in front of him, enough of Pyp and Grenn trying to set him up, enough of being alone, enough of Ygritte tearing at his seams.

 

He stopped walking so suddenly that Ygritte lost her balance, and he only clutched her arms to stop her from falling over because he did not want to carry her if she broke her leg. _Would you please shut up?_

 

 _Would you please shut up._ She mocked his voice, leaning closer to him. He could feel her breath fanning over his skin, warm and damp, her blue eyes staring up at him. _You think you're better than me, crow._ The name dripped from her lips like poison. Jon knew it was what the others called them, the completely black school uniforms serving as inspiration. But there was something else there, something despicable, and he hated hearing it.

 

Jon wondered what his life had become, stomping through the knee deep snow, dragging a girl along who screamed right into his ear about his privileges and how his school refused to support her college and how he could shove his dead father's money up his arse. He wanted to drop her, just sit here and wait for both of them to freeze to death. Instead, he yelled back, right in her face, so close their noses were almost touching because it was not his fucking fault that they had better libraries and better labs and his father was dead, for fuck's sake, what did his money matter to her, anyway? And who was it who constantly caused an uprising with the demonstrations and the shouting and fighting in the streets?

 

Eventually, neither of them could breathe any more, and Jon fell into the snow with a pained groan. Ygritte yelped when her injured foot hit the ground, but she collected herself, sitting upright next to him. Their breathing was laboured, could be heard by each other even over the shrill blowing of the wind.

 

They ate their last food in silence, chewing with aching and tired jaws. He would die out here, Jon was sure of it now.

 

 _You should get out of that school and get a life._ Where she found the energy to speak, he could only guess. Her words irritated him, all the venom and spite gone, no shouting, but an honest touch to her quiet words. _Get a job, find a woman._

 

He turned to look at her, lips a terrifying shade of blue, eyes clear, cheeks flushed, her breath forming steam in front of her mouth. She was looking at him, too, not as close as before, but looking deeply into his eyes. Too deep. Her words echoed in Jon's heart and in all the dark corners of his soul that he kept locked away and hidden. Why had she found a back door? Why was she crawling into his brain and picking at the things that caused him so much pain?

 

 _You're a pretty lad. Girls would claw each other's eyes out to get naked for you._ There it was again, the grin, mocking and teasing him.

 

_We should get up and move._

 

She showed no sign of even having heard him. Instead, she leaned in closer, her voice dropping to just louder than a raspy whisper. _I could teach you how to do it._

 

 _I know how to do it._ Jon wanted to groan as soon as the words had left his mouth. Again. He had given her what she wanted, again.

 

Ygritte bit her lip, the grin not fading. _You know nothing, Jon Stark._

 

It was no longer about walking to find their group or to find shelter. They were moving now to keep from freezing. As soon as they would make another attempt at sitting down, Jon knew they would not get up again. There was no strength left in either of them, not even to stop. And so they talked, because while they did, it distracted from the pain that spread like fire through their legs and the hunger that bit their bellies and the exhaustion that pulled their eyes shut and slowed their breathing.

 

They talked about the cold, about what food they would eat if someone found them now – he would eat the biggest burger the world had ever seen, and she could keep her grilled cheese. About beaches in the sun they had never been to – _You tell me you're some rich guy's kid and never went on any fancy vacations?_ \- or about survival tips they once heard and how not-helpful they were turning out to be – _I'm not eating poop just cause Bear Grylls says so, thanks very much._

 

It was starting to get darker, or as dark as it ever got here. The bright light of the sun reflecting from the snow was slowly gleaming orange, and come the next morning, Jon knew the chances were slim for both of them to still be alive.

 

 _I don't think they'll find us._ Ygritte sounded oddly indifferent, the words – words they both had thought over and over for hours without actually uttering them – strangely calm and lacking any panic.

 

Jon was not sure if he wanted to reassure her or himself. _They will_.

 

When they did find them only half an hour later, Jon almost started crying. He was barely moving at this point, could hardly hold his own weight, much less Ygritte, who was clinging to him, quiet now. Her breathing was shallow, and his every breath felt like ice running down his throat. But he saw them nonetheless, appearing on top of a nearby hill, shouting, running towards them.

 

They tried to pry Ygritte away from him, but he only held on tighter, and remembered nothing after that.

 

.:.

 

He had just dumped his backpack into Pyp's loaded trunk when he heard her voice. _Jon!_ Turning, he saw her nearby, walking towards him on crutches. She looked oddly helpless, not an adjective he had come to associate with Ygritte.

 

Hearing Pyp and Grenn mumbling in the car, he smashed the trunk shut, walking away from the run-down pile of scrap metal that Pyp liked to call his _ride_. He met Ygritte halfway, unable to read the smile on her face. _What is it?_

 

Her lips were back to their normal shade of pink, her hair tied into a messy bun and the thick coat exchanged for the most unfitting, knitted cardigan he had ever seen, the colour reminding him of overcooked salmon. Still, he felt warmth spreading through his chest at the sight of her. After Quorin, a few other students and the rescue team had found them and taken them to the local hospital – turned out they had been lucky and much more sturdy than they had felt – he had only seen Ygritte once. Then, she had been laying in a hospital bed, sleeping, covered in layers of blankets and her face unnaturally pale.

 

Nobody knew he had sneaked into her room that night - and no one would ever know, he would see to that. Especially not her. Ygritte would probably find a way to strangle him the next time he dared to go to sleep. Still, he had found no rest in his own bed, and when Pyp and Grenn had been ushered out by the nurse – an elderly woman with a cap and a voice that reminded him of Old Nan - the only thing he could see in the darkness behind his closed eyes had been his last memory of Ygritte's face. Her slowly closing eyes, the shocking blue shade of her lips. The feel of her hands holding on to him for support. So, he had wandered off, searching for her, needing to make sure she was alright. He had only stayed with her for a minute, breathing in deeply before heading back to his own bed.

 

She came to a stop before him, putting her weight on one crutch to use a free hand to tuck a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. _You all thawed?_

 

 _Yeah._ He smiled at her, unsure where they were picking up their unlikely companionship. Back when she called him a stupid, spoiled brat? Back when she offered to teach him... things?

 

 _Listen_ , she said quickly, and Jon could see her friends over her shoulder, eyeing them suspiciously. When they saw him staring, they turned towards each other, suddenly deep in conversation. _I work at Rayder's Coffee Shop, down at the Fist. Guess that's not a part of town you've ever been to. But just in case you want to... learn things._ She winked, actually winked, and Jon almost skipped a breath. _I work weekdays and every second Sunday._

 

With that, and another smile he could not decipher, she turned around and walked away from him. Jon tried not to stare after her for too long, but her words were repeating in his mind over and over and he felt a slight blush creeping onto his face.

 

A deft clap on the shoulder ripped him back into reality, and he turned to see Grenn's broad grin. _What was that about?_

 

 _Nothing._ His answer came too quickly and too unsteadily, Jon knew it. Avoiding his friend's mischievous grin, he made his way back to the car.

 

 _Didn't look like nothing to me._ Jon muttered a curse under his breath when the passenger door would not open, all rusty and ancient. _And you were holding on to her pretty tight when we found you guys._

 

The blush Ygritte had conjured on his cheeks only increased. He had little recollection of what had happened when they had been found, but according to his friends – and the utter enjoyment sparkling in their eyes when they kept reminding him only proved that it was the truth – he had been holding on to Ygritte, refusing to let anyone else take her. _She was my responsibility. And we were half-dead._

 

The door finally jumped open with an ugly creak, and Pyp shouted at him not to hurt his most precious possession. _It belongs to the junk yard, Pyp._

 

Music was already blaring out of the speakers, and when Jon reached for his seatbelt, Grenn put his hand on his shoulder. _Mate, she sure doesn't seem like the kind of girl who wants to be anyone's responsibility._

 

.:.

 

Ygritte had been wrong. The Fist was a rough part of town, and almost a thirty minute bus ride away from his school, but he had been there before. A lot. Hidden away in an alleyway that could serve as a murder scene for some crime show on television, was the only decent comic book store in town, and Jon was a frequent customer. Not that he would tell that to Ygritte. She did not need another reason to tease him. Not that he needed to tell her anything at all, really.

 

It had been three weeks since the disastrous hiking trip, three weeks in which he had to talk to his little sister Arya on the phone twice every day because she was scared out of her mind that any harm would come to him, three weeks of other students whispering behind his back, a very uncomfortable conversation with Quorin, an even more uncomfortable one with Professor Mormont - so much for making up for setting the lab on fire. He tried not to think about all the sly remarks from Professor Thorne. Three weeks of restless nights, filled with dreams of red hair and blue eyes, and he cursed Ygritte for planting the seed in his brain.

 

So, because he was smart and strong and not at all curious, he somehow found himself in front of Rayder's Coffee Shop. It was the first warm day of spring, and the sun tingled on his face. He recognized the small shop, had seen it a few times when he was walking by. Yet he had never been inside.

 

He had no clue what he was even doing here. Or if Ygritte was even working. Every weekday, she had said, but what time? The afternoon was late and his books resting heavily in his backpack. It had been a stupid idea, an hour wasted. She was probably not even here, and even if she was, what would he do?

 

The bus stop was just around the corner, but Jon knew he'd have to wait at least twenty minutes for the next bus to take him to the corner of Eastwatch Street where he might catch the right bus home.

 

Groaning, he pushed open the heavy door to the shop. Inside, he looked up at the high wooden ceiling, rustic and sturdy looking. Dark leather chairs were scattered all over the room, pictures of animals and forests lining the walls, candles casting a comforting glow. He was surprised by the place – it looked a lot more run-down and shabby from the outside. A handful of customers were sipping on their drinks, one elderly lady chewing on a piece of cake. Spotting an empty chair by the window, Jon dropped his backpack and sat down, all the while avoiding the counter at the back.

 

He sank deeply into the chair, the scent of pines and smoke filling his nostrils. There was a small candle flickering on the table, which seemed to be carved right out of the trunk of a tree. Other customers had carved their names into the wood, small and almost unrecognisable pictures, quotes and other scars. Jon ran his finger along a deep gash that formed a T.

 

 _Well, look who's come to be enlightened._ He looked up at the sudden voice, staring right into that pair of blue eyes that had haunted him for weeks. Ygritte grinned that grin that drove him so mad, her hair braided away from her face, the black apron she wore over her orange shirt – same salmon sort of colour as the cardigan, he noticed (and why on Earth did he remember what colour her damn cardigan had been?) - was spotless and clung to her. Back in the wilderness, with her thick coat and layers of scarves, he had not noticed how skinny and tiny she was.

 

A lump formed in his throat, her words suggestive and an echo of their last conversation in the parking lot. Of course he had not forgotten her proposal, but thinking about that would only make him blush. _That's not why I came._

 

 _It's not?_ She laughed, a clear laugh he would not have anticipated, one hand pressed against her hip, the other clutching a small notebook. _Why honour us with your presence, then?_

 

Right. Coffee Shop. An order. His eyes caught sight of a menu on his table, but he could feel his fingers trembling even as they rested on his thighs. _A coffee?_ He blurted out the words, eyes dancing from her face to the counter in the back and to the old lady wiping cream from her mouth with a mossy green napkin. _Black._

 

 _Sure._ Ygritte turned on her heels, striding towards the counter.

 

 _I'm such an idiot_ , Jon murmured to himself, holding his scarred palm over the small, flickering flame of the candle. The elderly woman in the corner was staring out of the window into the dim light of the street light. He had not noticed them turning on, or how quickly the street was turning dark. Turning away, his eyes found the menu again. Green letters listed all sorts of baked and cooked meals and snacks, variations of coffee he had never even heard of, teas he knew and did not.

 

 _What happened with your hand?_ Jon flinched, wondering if she was sneaking up on him on purpose. His eyes fell from her curious face to his own hand, which he turned up. The thick scars and angry red skin stood out, ugly and disfigured. Thankfully, the pain had faded by now, even though he felt as if his fingers would never be as flexible as the ones on his unscathed hand.

 

 _Burned it a couple of months ago._ There was no need to tell her how he had accidentally set the lab on fire. It was not a story he liked to tell, one he had suffered for enough and had been teased for on any occasion his friends deemed fit.

 

 _Shouldn't play with fire, then._ Ygritte grinned, softer than he expected. _Here you go._ Setting the steaming cup of coffee down in front of him, she smoothed her flat palm down her apron before sitting down in the chair across the small table.

 

Jon threw her a curious glance. _Do you always sit down with your customers?_

 

 _Can't say it's a habit._ She crossed her legs, burying her hands between her thighs. _My shift just ended. You're lucky._ This was why coming here had been such a massively stupid idea. Here she was, sitting right in front of him, and all he could do was to wrap his hands around the coffee cup and stare blankly at her knees.

 

 _How's your foot?_ The hot coffee burned as it ran down his throat, bitter and strong. It reminded Jon why he hated coffee so much.

 

 _Fine. Still hurts a bit when I walk._ Their eyes met, and she seemed to inspect him, giving him that deep stare. It made him feel naked and vulnerable. _Coffee okay?_

 

He nodded, forcing down another sip as if to prove his point. They sat in silence for a short while, the only sounds the clinging of cutlery and the deep hum of a coffee machine.

 

Ygritte was tapping her foot in a steady rhythm, and Jon wondered if a matching song was playing in her head. _Saw your brother on the news this morning._ Jon looked down at his lap at the mention of Robb. He had seen him, too, although what exactly the news had been about, he could not tell. At the time, he'd been half-dressed and had nearly impaled himself on his toothbrush on the way out of his room. Ever since Robb had taken over their father's seat as head of the family business, Jon felt as if he was on the news every day. _Fine guy, I'm sure he's not a virgin_.

 

He sat down his cup, immediately craving the heat on his skin. _Do you have siblings?_ It was a stupid question, but at least it would steer their conversation away from where she had been taking it. Again.

 

 _Not that I know of._ Her answer surprised Jon, and he furrowed his brows. Yet, before he could ask what she meant or if she was just joking, she spoke again. _How come you don't work for him?_

 

The coffee was so dark that Jon felt lost staring at it. Looking up, he saw Ygritte's face softened and curious. He noticed a small red stain on the collar of her blouse, but from the distance, he could not tell what it was. _Robb asked after..._ The words died on his tongue, turning to ashes as his heart darkened. Talking about his father's death would never come without grief, and neither would the anger ever diminish. Someone had shot him in the middle of the road, while Arya was right there, tiny, innocent Arya who had never been the same since. _After our father died. But I didn't want to._

 

Ygritte uncrossed her legs, thereby freeing her hands. She leaned forwards, propping her elbows on her knees and her chin on her fists. _Might be better. Looks like you need balls for that kind of job._

 

She had no idea how right she was. It was a brutal world, one that had claimed his father's life, and Jon was scared for Robb every day. His brother was the perfect heir to their father's position. Strong, intelligent, charismatic. Yet, Jon knew him better than most, and he knew of his weaknesses and blind spots, of all the ways the world could kill him.

 

His eyes caught sight of the menu again, and he was reminded of the sad and empty part of the fridge that belonged to him (he'd end up stealing Sam's food again, as usual). _So, if I wanted to eat something here, what would you recommend?_

 

 _Nothing, the food sucks._ He laughed at her dead-serious words, and she gave him a broad smile. Her teeth were slightly crooked, he noticed, but it made her smile more special. _But there's a diner down the road. Best burgers in town, trust me._ Vaguely, he remembered his dying wish for burgers back in the icy cold when they had walked into the unknown, and he grinned. _Don't tell Mance I said that, though._

 

_Who is that?_

 

 _My boss._ She crossed her arms in front of her chest, looking him up and down. _So, you hungry, Jon Stark?_

 

Her gaze was penetrating, and suddenly Jon felt his palms becoming clammy. _Not really._ He was a coward and a liar, and maybe he was naive for thinking that she had just invited him for dinner, but if sitting here with her already made his stomach twist, how could he eat a burger when she was around?

 

They spoke little after that, and Jon regretted his lie when she eventually scrambled back onto her feet. _I need to change._ She looked down at him, eyes flickering between him and his half-empty cup of now cold coffee. _Will I see you again?_

 

She left him no time to reply as if she knew he did not have an answer, only winked and walked away, untying her apron as she did. He could hear her saying something to the young woman behind the counter, but could not make out the words.

 

Sinking deeper into the leather chair, Jon cursed himself. He was stupid and hungry and sweaty and it would take ages to wash away the bitter taste of the coffee. Fumbling through his bag, he found his schedule for the upcoming week, eyes burning into the empty space on Tuesday afternoon.

 

.:.

 

On Tuesday, after almost missing the bus and cursing Professor Thorne for not ending the class on time, Jon stumbled into the coffee shop with a fluttering sensation in his guts. Surely she wouldn't be working, that would be too big a coincident. The warmth of the shop greeted him, and the heady spices and scent of wood were more comforting than the slowly spreading spring outside. One look at the counter showed no sign of Ygritte, and Jon was taken aback by the rush of disappointment he felt. For thirty minutes on the bus – and the past five days since he had seen her last – he had been going over their conversation in his head, taking apart every word she had uttered and every word he should have said.

 

The shop was busier than last week, a man in an ugly brown suit sitting by the window, a couple holding hands while their coffee cups steamed on the table, some teenagers with their noses buried in their books or phones, and a weird-looking guy with a headband who was sitting at the counter – who actually wore headbands?

 

Spotting the same seat from last week still empty, Jon walked over there, ignoring the used plate still on the table. Pink frosting was smeared all over the blue plate, and he checked the menu for a large selection of doughnuts to choose from. Then, smiling to himself like an idiot, he remembered Ygritte's warning about the food, and shoved the menu to the far end of the table.

 

 _Didn't think I'd ever see you again._ She had sneaked up on him again, a cup of steaming black coffee suddenly appearing on the table in front of him.

 

He looked up at her, trying his hardest not to look as nervous as he felt. _I didn't order that._

 

Ygritte grinned, the orange of her blouse in stark contrast to her hair, which fell loosely down over her shoulders. _I know_. Her smile shone brightly, and when she sat down opposite him, Jon noticed the way she tapped her fingers against her thigh and flipped her hair back over her shoulder. The movement seemed perfectly practised, and he suddenly felt the urge to reach out and tuck another loose strand of hair behind her ear. He shook off the thought, shocked at the bluntness of his own mind. It was annoying enough to always be as terrified and clueless around women as he was, but with Ygritte, his mind started to fill in all the blanks in the most vivid of colours.

 

More than once he had caught himself doodling in class, wild lines scribbled in red that resembled her hair, blue circles of ink that were darker and more fearful than her eyes. Last night, standing under the shower, he had wondered what shampoo she used, over breakfast he had looked at the back of the cereal box (Sam had bought it, and he didn't really like anything that tasted like caramel but wasn't caramel, but it was still better than no breakfast) wondering which of the proclaimed flavours Ygritte might prefer. On the bus earlier, driving past the many apartment buildings and run-down parking lots of the Fist, he had tried to picture where she lived, what a room she had put together would look like. He imagined total chaos, books and papers and clothes scattered everywhere.

 

 _Shift over?_ He asked, reaching for his coffee, the warmth of the blue cup immediately welcomed by his fingers. She cocked her head to the side, watching him silently as he gulped down the vile drink. How anyone could actually enjoy this, he had no clue.

 

 _I wouldn't be sitting here if it wasn't, dumb ass_. Somehow, Jon found that her words were cutting less and less deep with each rude remark. She tucked one of her legs under the other, never taking her eyes off him. _But it ended almost an hour ago. It was really busy earlier so I couldn't leave until now._

 

She told him about her day then, about smashed plates and salty cakes and coffee stains on the brand new menus and a few regulars with all their quirks, told him everything as if it was the most natural thing in world for her to do. He leaned in closer, his outstretched foot almost bumping into hers under the table, and the bitter taste of the coffee was long forgotten when he could listen to her voice and watch the way her tongue sometimes slipped along the crooked line of her teeth.

 

It was dark outside by the time she grew more quiet, her apron untied and folded messily across the side of her chair. Jon was still holding on to the now empty and cold cup, fascinated by the way the street lights illuminated Ygritte's hair, almost like dancing flames. _So, after a day like that, you'd rather spend your free time sitting here with me than going home?_

 

When the words had left his lips, Jon wanted to bite off his own tongue, only now realizing what exactly he had said. That was not something he said, not ever, not to anybody, not when the other person took every word and turned it into something else the way Ygritte did.

 

But Ygritte only smiled softly, and he did not miss the spark in her eyes. _Maybe._

 

As it turned out, it was not as difficult to work on school assignment on the bus as Jon had always thought, and so the time spent on the way down to the Fist was not entirely wasted. Ygritte had scribbled her work schedule on a napkin and slipped it swiftly into the pocket of his jacket two weeks ago, and in that short amount of time, Jon had become a regular at Rayder's Coffee Shop.

 

He could not always make it there for the end of her shifts, and then he would sit in the comfy leather chair and watch her bustle about the shop, gulping down the coffee she always brought him without him ordering one. Sometimes she'd look over to him and grin, and after a while, the flutters in his stomach did not bother him all that much.

 

But his favourite days were the ones when she could sit down with him, would untie her apron and curl her legs under herself and tell him about this and that and ask him questions. It was surprisingly easy to talk to her, and her remarks and all the names she came up with for him formed a pattern and a bond between them. Sometimes, when she was so invested in what she was saying that Jon felt she was drifting away, her cheeks would flush a deep red, and she would gesticulate with her hand wildly. Then, when she listened to him, she would lean in, look at him with that deep, blue, haunting gaze, and her fingers would always flutter against her thigh.

 

Of course he mentioned his siblings, but they never talked much about family. She knew about the scandal surrounding his birth and the mother he had never known, of course. Everybody in the world bloody knew and he hated it. But somehow, she seemed to understand the scars he carried and never really brought it up.

 

One time, over a pretty dry doughnut (she had been right saying the food at the shop was no good, and not even the vanilla frosting could save the sad lump of dough) she matter-of-factly told him that her parents had died when she was very young and that she had been raised by Tormund, a giant guy with hair as red as her own who had been friends with her mother - and that was the end of it. Two minutes later, she talked about how they should take another trip North to forget about the time they had almost died up there - there were some caves there he would love - and when she licked blue sprinkles from her upper lip, Jon had forgotten all about dead parents and motherless little boys.

  
One day, and later Jon could not remember how the topic had even come up, he told her about the time after Bran's accident, the day Catelyn had looked him in the eyes - and how terrifying she had appeared, red eyes and dark circles, face swollen from grief and a severe lack of sleep - and told him he should have been the one to fall and nearly die, to spend the rest of his days in a wheelchair. Jon realized as he spoke that he had never told this to anyone, and he almost choked on the words.

 

Ygritte never said a word, only rested her surprisingly warm hand on his knee, drawing soft circles with her thumb, and it was the first time Jon wished to be brave enough to close the ever shrinking gap between them and kiss her.

 

.:.

 

The first time he walked her to her car had been after the end of her Sunday morning shift. He had been sitting in his usual spot all morning, watching her rush around the shop, pale cheeks flushed and complaining in exasperation whenever she had a free second to speak to him. Jon had never seen the shop so busy, filled to the brim with chatting customers. By the time Ygritte's shift was finally over, she had asked him to help her carry some boxes out to the yard.

 

Jon knew she did not really need his help, and even if she did, she'd never ask. Still, he paid for his three coffees and followed Ygritte through the small and cramped kitchen to the back. The smell of baking filled his nostrils, and even though he knew how awful the doughnuts tasted, the smell was divine. Ygritte had changed out of her work clothes, the apron and blouse stuffed into a small locker by the back door, and Jon's gaze lingered on the curve of her hips when she pointed at the boxes on the floor.

 

 _What's in them?_ He swallowed, hoping she could not see the flush that spread from his cheeks down over his neck.

 

 _Stuff we don't need any more. Dishes, pans, towels, some clutter from up front._ She pulled on a light jacket, the gentle warmth of spring finally strong enough for winter jackets to be locked away and forgotten. _I'm taking them to a charity shop, or at least whatever stuff isn't ruined._

 

Jon smiled as he picked up one of the two boxes. They were not heavy at all, and had she wanted, Ygritte could probably carry them both herself, but he was not going to say anything about that. Instead, he followed her quietly down the stairs to the yard and across the rough stones towards her car. He chuckled when he saw it. It reminded him of Pyp's car, a driving piece of scrap metal.

 

The red colour was peeling off at some spots, rusty patches of metal peeking through. One side mirror was missing – _Not my fault, it was the arsehole bus driver who wasn't looking!_ – and the passenger door could only be opened from the inside. A purple blanket covered the back seats, apparently because the coffee stains on the seats had never washed out - _I was going to kill Orell for that. Never taking him anywhere again_. Orell had tuned out to be the weird guy with the headband Jon had seen sitting at the counter quite frequently, a friend of Mance Rayder and regular customer.

 

From that day on, whenever he could stay for the end of her shifts, Jon always walked her to her car, and she'd drop him off at his bus stop. The car smelled like cinnamon and petrol, and Jon always had to shove aside books or empty water bottles to sit down on the passenger seat. By his feet, she usually dumped her backpack, cigarette stumps, crunched leafs and pebbles joining the mess. On the back seat, plastic bags and clothes piled up.

 

He was surprised that she turned the music up almost louder than Pyp, and she always drove with her window down, the wind rushing through the car, making Jon's ears throb whenever she crossed the speed limit - which she always did. The stick shift was covered with a leather glove, and a small stuffed bear dangled from the rear-view mirror - _Tormund gave that to me when I was a kid, and he'd kill me if I ever got rid of it._

 

Most of Ygritte's co-workers ignored him when he followed Ygritte through the kitchen and past the office. Mance was never around, and the only one who ever acknowledged Jon was Gilly, a shy-looking girl who mostly worked in the kitchen.

 

Weeks had passed like this, him and Ygritte talking over a cup of coffee, him listening to her singing along to her loud music for those few precious minutes in the car before she dropped him off, working on his school assignments while she bustled about the shop.

 

His friends had not missed his sudden change of routine, of course, and Jon found it more and more difficult to make up excuses. Sam never pushed him for more information than he was willing to give, but Pyp and Grenn were as curious as teenage girl. But even if Jon had wanted to tell them the truth, he would have had no idea where to start. What was it that he and Ygritte had? And how could he explain Ygritte to them? How funny and smart she was and how beautiful she looked in the light of candles or street lights and how she always tucked her legs underneath her and could talk for hours without taking a breath and how he did not mind at all when she called him names. How could they ever understand all this?

 

It was dark already by the time he walked her to her car, her blue sweater glowing in the flickering light of the only lamp that illuminated the yard. She had been going on about one of the delivery guys for the last few minutes, but Jon had barely listened. He was kneading his sweaty hands, knees turning more into jelly with each step he took.

 

When Ygritte fumbled with the car keys, he took a deep breath. _Ygritte?_

 

 _Yeah?_ She did not look up, muttering a curse under her breath when she dropped the keys onto the pebble-covered ground.

 

 _I think I'm hungry today._ He watched her as she knelt on the ground, picking up her keys. She furrowed her brows when she met his gaze, slowly rising back onto her feet.

 

 _You think?_ Jon could not read her expression. Had he been misreading her all along? He remembered their first meeting in the shop all those weeks ago, when she mentioned the diner and he hadn't been brave enough to make a move. Had everything in between then and now just been wishful thinking on his part?

 

He swallowed again, fighting to maintain eye contact and not drop his head. _I am._

 

A broad grin suddenly spread across Ygritte's face, one he could barely see in the scarce light. _And here I thought you'd never ask me out._

 

_That... I wasn't-_

 

 _Calm down._ She ripped open the car door and threw her backpack in. _I don't bite. Often._ When she opened the passenger door for him, Jon climbed in wearily, his heart pounding. He had actually done it. He was going on a date with Ygritte, or at least that was what she had called it. Sort of. Then what had they been doing over the last few weeks? He was confused and terrified, but then she turned on the music and nudged his elbow with her own and he could not help but smile.

 

The diner was small and nearly empty. Ygritte dragged him to what she called her favourite seat at the back. The walls were painted in a sickly green, but the smell of food reminded Jon how hungry he really was.

 

 _No coffee?_ Ygritte asked with a grin when he had ordered a coke instead, the waitress rushing off towards the kitchen.

 

 _Actually, I hate coffee._ Ygritte leaned forward, her forearms flat on the table, hands dangerously close to his own. Suddenly, the salt and pepper shakers and numerous ketchup bottles on the table seemed of special interest, and Jon reached out to fumble with a loose label.

 

 _Why keep drinking it then?_ She asked, laughing, and the clear sound of it drowned out the dull music and the rapid beating of his heart.

 

He looked up, giving her his best smile. _I didn't want to give you another reason to make fun of me by ordering a cup of tea._ It made her laugh, and how her fingers came to curl around his, he could not recall later. But they were warm and soft and fit perfectly between his and she asked him about all sorts of thing, smiling and laughing and nodding and wiping ketchup from his mouth with her thumb. It was not at all harder than talking to her in the shop, and Jon never wanted to spend another minute without her.

 

She had been right about the food, it was by far the best burger he had eaten since he'd moved here, and when she stole most of his chips, he did not mind. He ate a lot slower than his empty stomach told him to, but his eyes kept flickering to the clock, painfully reminded of the passing time. In the end, he could not stall forever, and when the waitress brought the bill and he rummaged through his bag for his purse,Ygritte put her hand on his arm.

 

 _This one is on me, Jon Stark._ He was about to protest when she interrupted him. _After all, I did almost get you killed up North._

 

She paid the waitress, and Jon grinned at her, keeping his words tucked away until the woman was gone. _So you do admit it was your fault?_

 

Ygritte chuckled, reaching across the table for his hand again, and this time Jon was prepared and less shocked, but just as breathless when her fingers drew patterns on his palm. _Well, I did want to climb those hills. You're the one who thought walking around would be the better idea._

 

 _You never would have made it up those hills._ He was looking down at their entangled fingers. She had a scar on the knuckle of her index finger, and he brushed over it with his thumb, wondering where it was from. There were so many things he did not know about her that he threatened to burst with curiosity.

 

Her voice was softer and more quiet when she spoke, and when he looked up, he saw she had been looking at their hands, as well. _You know nothing._

 

.:.

 

Sam's room was meticulously clean, the neatly organized bookshelves crammed into every free corner. Jon was not in here often - they had a big kitchen with a sofa for a reason. The last time he had been in here, and he only remembered it now, had been after his father's funeral. Then, he had sat on Sam's floor in his black suit for over an hour, not talking, just sitting there while Sam scribbled on his notepad.

 

Sam sat on his bed, an open book in his lap, and he looked up when Jon appeared in the doorway, holding up a brand new box of cereal. He crossed the room, all the books making it appear much darker than it was, and Jon felt cheated that he had ended up with the room with only one window when he did not waste the light with endless books. Sitting down on the floor by the bed, Jon ripped open the cereal box, reaching in to grab a fistful before dumping it on the bed.

 

 _You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to._ The two of them had only known each other for a little over a year, and it made Jon wonder how Sam could know him so well. Either he had a gift with people that was entirely wasted on a guy who was too shy to even order food over the phone, or Jon was much too easy to read.

 

Sam took a handful of cereal himself, and for a while, they sat there chewing in silence. It was always like this between them. Easy.

 

 _I've been seeing someone._ The lingering taste of chocolate in his mouth only made the memory of last night's dinner with Ygritte sweeter. She had held his hand on their way out of the diner, brushed her lips against his cheek, her breath warm and damp against his skin before saying goodnight. Sam looked at Jon with big eyes, but the shock Jon might have expected never came. He must have suspected something after Jon had spent more and more time god-knows-where for the last few weeks. _Do you remember when I went on that trip in March?_

 

 _Where you almost died?_ Sam laughed, grabbing another fistful of cereal, crumbling it all over the massive book still on his lap.

 

Jon smiled. _That one. The girl I was with, from the community college. We've been... seeing each other._ Was that even the right word? He had no clue. All he knew was that she made him smile and laugh and feel things that were bursting in his chest and he needed to talk about her because she deserved it, the whole world should know but that was foolish and ridiculous and so he sighed. _Her name is Ygritte._

 

 _Are you... together?_ Sam's question was hard to understand over the mouthful of cereal, and even harder to answer.

 

 _No. I mean we... We haven't..._ They definitely were not together, no. Did he want to be? He was not sure. Or he was, sometimes, whenever she smiled at him or when she had taken his hand yesterday. But sometimes, when she turned away or he was reminded how clueless he really was, the prospect terrified him. _Oh, I don't know._

 

A soft padding sound interrupted the silence left by Jon's indecision, and he did not have to turn before a cold, wet nose nuzzled his arm. _Hey, boy._ He buried his hands in Ghost's soft, white fur, pulling him against his chest. _No cereal for you._

 

 _You like her._ Sam was looking at the two of them, his words no question, but still spoken with hesitation.

 

Ghost licked the side of his neck, tickling him, and Jon ruffled him behind his ears before letting him go, watching as he curled up by his side with a drawn-out yawn.

 

_Yes._

 

.:.

 

 _It's no castle, I'm warning you,_ Ygritte said as she pushed open the yellow-painted door to her flat. Jon followed after her, two heavy plastic bags in his hands and eyes alert for every little detail he could take in. The mat in front of her door had a chequered pattern, the blue and green colours long faded.

 

 _I don't live in a castle any more, you know._ Jon kicked the door closed behind him while Ygritte rather violently smashed her hand against the light switch.

 

 _But you did._ Jon took in the room, most walls painted in a dark red. A sofa was crammed into one corner, scattered with cushions and blankets and books, two cardboard boxes serving a coffee table, loaded with empty cups, empty crisp bags and candles. _Big as shit._ There was a large bookshelf by the door, books and folders thrown in without much care. Clothes were strewn all over the wooden floor, along with shoes, both pairs and lonely ones. _I googled it, you know._ Through the single window, Jon could look out onto the parking lot behind her apartment building, the moon standing proudly against the night sky. _Just put those on the floor._ Ygritte waved at the bags in his hands, and he walked over to the small corner of the room that made up her kitchen. _Anywhere. It's a bit messy._

 

The fridge was plastered with magnets and notes, old shopping lists and newspaper snippets. Jon put the bags on a free place on the counter, smiling at the chaos that surrounded him.

 

He watched as Ygritte stumbled while trying to take off her shoes, kicking them angrily into a corner. Her jacket she dropped mindlessly over the couch, and he walked back to the door to take his own shoes off. On the wall by the door, he noticed a large number of photographs, some framed, most of them not.

 

One stood out, the only black and white one, so far to the right it almost disappeared behind an umbrella hanging from a hook. _Who is that?_ The woman on the picture looked a lot like Ygritte, but with darker hair and a more tired smile.

 

 _My mother._ Ygritte walked up behind him, pushing her hand softly between his shoulder blades. The chaste touch send shivers down Jon's spine.

 

 _You look like her._ The topic of mothers and family was still one they avoided, and the picture of Ygritte's mother brought back long buried questions of a little boy who had wondered so often if he looked anything like his own mother. The mother he never knew.

 

Ygritte was standing so close to him he could feel the warmth of her through his thin shirt, her fingers drumming gently against his back. _Tormund says I am a lot like her, when I'm not quick enough to shut him up._ She dropped her hand suddenly, walking away with brisk steps that Jon could feel in the wood beneath his feet. _I don't like to hear about her._

 

 _Why?_ He asked as he turned, watching as she began to unpack their bags, bare feet tiptoeing from left to right.

 

_Cause how do I know it's the truth?_

 

Her words haunted him for a while, distracting him when he stirred the sauce, ugly red splatters covering the counter, and Ygritte cursed him as she wiped them away. They ate in silence, sitting cross-legged on the floor by the couch.

 

 _Can I ask you something?_ Ygritte had pushed her empty plate as far away from her as her arm could reach. The sleeves of her shirt were pulled up, exposing her freckled forearms, her hair a messy sea of red that tangled down over her shoulders.

 

 _Since when are you asking for permission?_ Jon laughed.

 

 _Have you ever had a girlfriend?_ She was not teasing him now. It was a sincere question, her eyes burning curiously into his own. Jon put down his cup of tea, watching the dark surface reflecting the light.

 

She knew the answer to her own question, he was sure of it. But to admit it out loud seemed a cruel thing to ask of him. He could only swallow, looking up when he saw her moving from his peripheral vision. Rising to her knees, Ygritte furrowed her brows. Jon wanted to speak, but the words would not come, and that seemed to be answer enough for her.

 

Moving forward to close the small gap between them, Ygritte knelt in front of him. His heart was beating violently against his ribcage, the warmth of her small flat combined with his own rising body heat flushing his skin. Inside, he was still fighting to give her an answer. Outside, his fingers were trembling and his stomach flipped when she leaned in slowly. He could feel her breath on his skin, could smell the mixture of cinnamon and garlic and smoke, inhaling sharply before her lips pressed against his own.

 

They were soft, so perfectly soft and warm and she brushed them delicately against his, as if she was testing the waters, trying not to scare him away. For a few seconds, Jon was stunned, overwhelmed by the smell and taste and feel of her, watching how her eyes fluttered closed and her lashes stood out against her pale skin before his own eyes closed and he leaned into the kiss.

 

 _There_ , she whispered when she pulled back, her face mere inches away from his own, a soft smile curling her lips. Jon could count each freckle that coloured her pale skin. Ygritte nudged her nose gently against his, the moment stretching on forever between them, nothing else mattering. _That wasn't all that hard, was it?_


	2. part two . fire

charge me your daily rate  
I’ll turn you out in kind  
when the moon is round and full  
gonna teach you tricks that’ll blow your mind

 **lera lynn** , [wolf like me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=exEpj1dpC50)

 

Ygritte stumbled into his room, her clear laughter echoing loudly through the small space. He rushed in after her, laughing himself at the small puddles they were trailing behind them. The rain had started just when they had walked away from her car, and had hit with such force that they were soaked to the bone by the time they had ran down the street to his apartment building.

 

Ghost was jumping up her legs, quiet as he always was but his tail waving excitedly. Ygritte knelt down, stroking deftly behind his ears, drops of rain running down her face and clothes, the floor smeared with muddy water. Jon just stood in his doorway, and could not stop laughing as Ghost licked across Ygritte's cheek. She chuckled, standing back up and combing her fingers though her soaked hair.

 

 _Good boy,_ Jon murmured as Ghost padded over towards him, nuzzling his head between his knees. He patted him softly on the head before ushering him out of his room and closing the door. Sam was gone for the weekend, his brothers dreaded birthday dinner forcing him out of town, so Jon knew Ghost would make himself comfortable on Sam's bed.

 

His eyes fell back on Ygritte, standing in the middle of his room. He had not cleaned for a few days, but still it was not nearly as chaotic as her flat. His bed was shoved underneath the only window, next to his desk, the bookshelf fitting just so between his closet and the door to his bathroom. She walked over to the row of pictures on his desk, a soft smile dancing on her face. Jon shrugged out of his soaked jacket, hanging it over the back of a chair.

 

 _Are you fucking kidding me?_ Ygritte's raised voice when she pushed open the door to his bathroom made him chuckle. _You've your own bathroom?_

 

After that, he had a hard time convincing her that having his own bathroom did not prove her theory of him being a 'spoiled brat'. But not even the fact that Sam's toilet flush only worked twice in one day so he had to use his bathroom - which was not weird at all, no – convinced her. Her cheeks were flushed as she waved her hands, splashing water everywhere, and the picture of him and Arya in front of Winterfell only made her speak louder. In the end, they both started laughing, holding their stomachs when they took in the large puddle that had formed on the floor around them.

 

Ygritte shrugged out of her own jacket, dropping it on top of his own. She was kicking off her shoes when Jon's eyes fell on her chest, her soaked shirt clinging to her skin. He swallowed, looking down at his own shoes. Water was still dripping from his hair, some strands plastered to his face.

 

 _We've ruined your floor._ He looked up when she spoke, voice raspy from yelling through the rain and laughing so heartily for so long. When her fingers curled around the hem of her soaked shirt, Jon's eyes widened, and all thoughts of the stains on the floor were forgotten. In one quick movement, she pulled her shirt over her head, revealing a blue bra and planes of pale, freckled skin. She dropped the shirt on the chair, as well.

 

When her fingers skimmed over her flat stomach to the button of her jeans, Jon finally found his voice again. _What are you doing?_

 

 _What does it look like I'm doing?_ She asked, voice strained as she tried to push the soaked jeans down her thighs. Jon tried not to look, but his eyes were glued to each inch of skin that she revealed and he could not believe this was happening.

 

 _Ygritte-_ His voice trembled and broke when she stepped out of her jeans, not bothering to lift them but merely kicking them to the side. There she stood in nothing but her underwear, hair plastered to her shoulders and collarbones. In his room. Jon suddenly felt hot and cold at the same time, fingers curling into fists.

 

 _Do you want me freezing to death?_ She laughed, actually laughed - clearly and innocently, as if getting undressed in his room was the most normal thing in the world. A small part of his brain - one that was still functioning and not busy trying not to look at the curve of her legs or where the fabric of her bra stopped and skin began – whispered wickedly into his ears that this was in fact normal to most people. In this moment, though, it was the most surreal thing. _We survived that fucking trip, I don't intend to catch a cold and die cause you're scared of naked girls._

 

He swallowed as she grinned and began to walk over towards him, bare feet stepping through the splashes of water on the floor. _I'm not scared-_

 

 _You look scared._ Her voice was suddenly quiet, just above a raspy whisper, and she came to a halt mere inches from him. He could see the freckles that were scattered from her face down over her shoulders and arms, the shadows cast by her collarbones. She was so close he would barely have to move to touch her.

 

 _I'm not_. The voice that spoke was not his, it sounded foreign, terrified and overwhelmed. Ygritte smiled gently, her hands disappearing behind her back, and before Jon had figured out what she was doing, she shrugged out of her bra, throwing it off to the side.

 

 _Yes, you are._ The last thing he wanted was to stare, but the last thing possible was to look away. She was beautiful and perfect and the urge to reach out and touch her nearly killed him. _But there's no need_.

 

Her cold fingers danced down his arm until they found his hand, curling around it and gently lifting it. Nothing but their breathing broke the silence when she pressed his palm between her breasts, soft skin against his scarred palm, the beating of her heart even and comforting beneath his touch.

 

 _Ygritte-_ Her lips silenced him, the gap between them closed suddenly when she pressed them softly against his. It was a whisper more than a kiss, but enough to reassure him. Parting, they looked deeply into each other's eyes, all the words Jon could not say pouring out silently when he breathed raggedly. Her lips found his again, more firmly this time, her gentle sigh disappearing in the small space between them.

 

His hand moved, cupping her breast in his palm, and the shaky, breathy moan when he trailed his thumb over her nipple gave him courage. She buried her hands in his hair, clever fingers scraping gently against his scalp, pulling him deeper into the kiss. Every part of her was pressed against him, cold and soft and trying to crawl beneath his skin.

 

Everything that happened after that was a vivid blur in Jon's memory. How she peeled off his wet clothes, dumping them on the floor as they stumbled towards his bathroom. The different sighs and breathy moans she made when he kissed his way up her jaw and behind her ear, down her neck to the point where it met her shoulder. Whispers of him name when his lips trailed further south, leaving a trail between her breast. The shudders it sent down his spine when she pulled him in for another kiss urgently, tongues meeting in a battle he was unwilling to win or lose.

 

It seemed a miracle that they made it into the shower without breaking anything, lips sealed, hands roaming. Now that he had started, Jon never wanted to stop touching her. As the hot water poured down over them, he ran his hands down over her shoulders and past her breasts, over the flat plane of her stomach, circling her thighs, groaning when she sucked his bottom lip into her mouth.

 

Her own hands pulled gently at his hair, pressing his lips further into her skin when he knelt down in front of her, lips skimming across her stomach and further down. Even over the rushing of the shower he could hear her breath hitching, the husky moan of his name, and it spurred him on. He did not have the slightest clue what to do, but her every breath was a hint if he was doing something right, and when he looked up at her, she smiled, taking his hand and gently guiding it between her legs. _There._ Her legs quivered when he touched her there, warm and wet, different from the water pouring over them, his own hands trembling.

 

When his lips replaced his fingers, she clutched his shoulders, digging her fingertips into his skin almost to the point of pain until she fell apart, his name falling from her lips in a chant so husky that he wanted to drown in her. Instead, he rose to his feet, swallowing the last of her sighs with his mouth.

 

Later, everything was a colourful swirl, how she had kissed him almost desperately, how her hand had brushed down his chest, tickling his stomach until his breath had hitched when her fingers had curled around him.

 

He could not have told anyone how they made it out of the shower and to his bed. But he remembered how warm her skin had been under his touch, how she had sighed when he kissed her softly, how she had smiled and cupped his cheek and whispered his name. How everything had faded away until only she remained, how she had kissed him when she had finally guided him inside of her, the world blackening out. How her fingers had danced through his hair and her lips had painted whispers into the side of his neck. How she had moved against him, clung to him. 

 

The sound of his name on her lips, the heat of her, the tenderness. The look in her eyes when it was all over, the world shattering around them both.

 

Now, she was asleep in his arms, naked and warm and perfect, her even breathing and the steady beating of her heart lulling him to sleep, as well.

 

The only light was the ugly white shine that flooded in through the open bathroom door, but Jon could not bring himself to move to switch it off. Ygritte's wet hair was still plastered against her back and shoulder, the darkest shade of auburn now. Only when she stirred did the light allow for a shimmer of bright red, dancing across her hair like tiny scattered rubies. He ran his fingers through the slowly drying strands, curling softly beneath his touch.

  
Jon could still feel his heart rate picking up at the sight of her, the shape of her legs where they lay tangled with his own, the flat plane of her stomach pressed against his side, the swell of her breasts against his chest. The slope of her neck that he had kissed so often tonight and the smile that tickled her lips every now and again.

 

The need to be close to her, to touch her and never let her go again was almost painfully overwhelming.

 

A part of him - the part that was proud and stubborn more than it should be - told him it was only because he had just seen a naked woman up close for the first time less than two hours ago. But a different part of him knew that that was not all. It was the part of him that saw her crooked front teeth and smiled. The part that longed to reach out and trail his finger across the thick scar on the back of her thigh. That wanted to listen to her ramblings all day. That laughed when she called him names and mocked him. That listened to her music in the car and did not mind sharing his seat with piles of clothes she had worn three weeks ago.

  
It was not the fact that she was sleeping peacefully in his arms now, an act of trust and tenderness he would never have expected from her. It was more than that and Jon knew it.

  
The strange feeling spread warmly through his chest and clung to his heart as he pulled her a little closer. But he felt the dark side of it, too. Cold and unknown, flowing through him like a cold whisper of wind in the winter. It was dangerous and he knew it already, pressed his lips against the top of her head a little too urgently and intertwined their fingers a little too tightly. But she only sighed into the side of his neck, curling herself closer into him, and so he did not stop, never wanted to stop.

 

Ever.

 

.:.

 

It was all so different than Jon had always thought. None of it was difficult. It was easy, comfortable, like breathing. It was him and Ygritte, and everything else seemed to fade away when he was with her. There was no rich and poor, high and low, good and bad.

 

Pyp and Grenn stared at him with their mouth gaping when he told them about her, and Sam only smiled.

 

.:.

 

It was the second time Jon had brought Sam to the coffee shop. The relief of finally having a name for what was between him and Ygritte – he had a girlfriend and there was no need to keep that secret - was freeing.

 

Her shift was long over, and she sat on his lap in his usual window seat, her apron flung across the chair. Jon had his hands entangled with hers, every now and then dropping a kiss on her cheek, her jaw or whenever she turned, her lips. She tasted like hot chocolate, her empty cup on the table next to his drained tea cup. Over were the days when he had to force down coffee.

 

His eyes fell back towards the counter for the hundredth time in the last hour. _I can't believe it._ Sam sat there, heaved on one of the bar stools next to Orell (who had been side-eyeing Jon ever since Ygritte had greeted him with a kiss the other day), deep in conversation with Gilly. Jon could not see his friend's face, but he knew the deep tint of his cheeks and how stuttering his voice must sound. Still, he was proud.

 

Ygritte ran a finger along his cheekbone. _What?_

 

 _Sam._ He kissed her, softly, just a feather-light brush of skin, but it caused his blood to boil nonetheless. _I can't believe he's talking to her._

 

Ygritte stayed close when they parted, her blue eyes digging deeply into his own as a grin tickled her lips. He could feel the movement, the change of texture, the warmth of her breath, and he wrapped his arms around her waist. _Why do I get the feeling Sam did not say 'woah, I can't believe Jon finally got laid' when you told him about us?_ His fingers drew mindless patterns on her back, felt the ridges of her spine and dipped just a breath beneath the waistline of her jeans.

 

 _Cause he wouldn't say stuff like that_. Jon smiled broadly at her, feeling her move closer into their embrace. _You say stuff like that._ Pyp and Grenn had said similar things, but from her mouth, the words sounded all the more special – it was the same mouth he had kissed countless times by now. The same mouth that had felt so warm and soft against his own skin.

 

 _Yeah, but you like it._ Her whisper turned to silence when she pressed her lips against his once more, much more firmly, and Jon had to bite back the groan when she pushed her hips into his.

 

As difficult as it was, he untangled their limbs, putting a safe distance between them. Looking back to Sam and Gilly, who was smiling broadly and laughing at something Sam had said, Jon suddenly felt worry rising inside of him. _She's not going to break his heart, is she?_

 

_Who knows._

 

.:.

 

Summer was breaking through the clouds, flickers of pale blue sky peeking through the tufts of white. The air smelled of flowers and damp grass. Jon ran his fingers through it, cold drops left by the downpour coating his skin.

 

As the sunlight tickled his skin – his sleeves rolled up, hairs rising at the soft breeze – he turned to look at Ygritte. She was barefoot, her shoes lost somewhere in the high grass, not minding the cold dampness. Her laughter rang clearly across the deserted park. Her hair shone gloriously in the sunlight, yet not as brightly as her smile. The pale skin of her arms was exposed, her jacket folded on Jon's lap, and when she threw the heavy stick Ghost kept bringing back to her across the plane of grass, her freckles seemed to form a delicate pattern.

 

She nearly fell over when Ghost jumped up at her, wiggling his tail, and she buried her pale fingers deeply in his white fur. Jon felt a heavy weight lifting off his chest in that moment, all the shouting from earlier that morning forgotten as the peaceful moment stretched on.

 

It had not been the first time they had fought, and not even the worst. Just last week, she had thrown the remote control at his head, storming out of his room, and he did not see her again for two days after that (she had not actually aimed at his head, but fortunate as he was, he had turned just in time to get hit).

 

Growing up, his father had made a point of teaching him and his siblings what it meant to grow up the way they did, privileged and lucky. He also made sure they all understood that not everyone was as lucky, but just as worthy. All his life, Jon had considered himself tolerant.

 

Ygritte thought him ignorant.

 

 _You know nothing._ She had yelled and whispered and thrown it at his face many times now. And when she told him about growing up without her parents, or the poorly stocked labs in her college, the struggles to get an access card for Castle Black's filled-to-the-brim library, the time she had to spend two weeks on the streets because she could not pay her rent, Jon began to think that maybe she was right. That he knew nothing about the real world.

 

 _But it's not justified for you to march on our campus!_ She had twisted his words in his mouth that morning, storming through his room, a smear of Nutella still on her upper lip. Jon wanted to kiss it away, but she would have bitten off his tongue had he even dared to try.

 

Some of the students from her college had marched on Castle Black's campus the day before – wildlings, some of his classmates called them just as they called them crows – and had smeared the walls with angry red paint, shouted and yelled. Jon did not know the two guys who had gotten into a fight, but the police had come to take them away. It had not been the first time, and with each invasion, the tension grew.

 

Jon had only seen the commotion from one of the windows, and all the while, he had been nervous to spot a mane of red hair in the masses that were crowding below. He knew Ygritte supported her fellow students. Again and again, he tried to tell her that what they were doing was wrong. _It's not the right way!_ But she would silence him every time. _You know nothing._ And truly, perhaps he did not. But he knew that the tension was building up to something bigger, and he was afraid that the axe was going to drop eventually.

 

 _Don't do anything stupid, Ygritte. Please._ She was smart, much smarter than him, but what made him worry so much was her anger. It burned as brightly as her hair, and how she could look past the luring flame to even let him in, Jon did not know.

 

_I can get you a library card._

 

_And who will get one for all the others?_

 

She was right. He knew nothing. Not about these things.

 

He was pulled out of his thoughts when a pair of soft lips pressed against the top of his head, cold hands ruffling through his hair. _Why are you looking so miserable?_

 

 _I'm not_. His hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her down. Ygritte laughed as he pushed her onto the cold grass, burying his head in the crook of her neck where her skin was warmed by the sun, scattered with freckles and smelling so much like her. _Just thinking, that's all._

 

Her fingers curled around the hemline of his shirt, the tips slipping underneath to craze against his back. Sighing into her skin, he pushed her more firmly into the ground, lips peppering kisses up her neck and towards her ear where strands of hair tickled his cheeks. _Thinking about what?_

 

They had fought enough for one day, so the last thought on Jon's mind was to bring it all up again. He leaned back to look at her, at the smile on her lips as she reached up to cup his cheek. _About you_. The words were quiet, for her ears only, and in return, Ygritte pulled him down to her again, slipping her tongue into his mouth. _You and me_ , he breathed into her mouth.

 

In the way she always did – crawling under his skin to read his thoughts and tear apart his worries – she parted, looking deeply into his eyes. _Stop worrying about that now, Jon Stark._ A cold fingertip smoothed out the lines on his forehead. _It's you and me that matters to me and you._

 

.:.

 

 _Anything you want to tell me?_ The phone reception was terrible, as usual, and Jon crawled off his bed with a yawn, phone pinned between his shoulder and chin as his hands ruffled Ghost's ears. Jon knew the tone of his brother's voice very well. There was an edge to it, a hint of worry hidden beneath casual teasing. Robb had always known him well, almost as well as Arya.

 

Walking over the the door, shut now because Gilly was visiting for the third time this week and while he was happy for Sam... They already shared toilets, that was as far as he was willing to take their friendship. _What?_ By the door, the reception was better, but the view of his unmade bed was tempting. The pillow smelled like Ygritte, and the sweater she had worn last night was still flung over his sheets.

 

 _You haven't called in weeks. Guess you're... busy._ He could practically hear Robb's grin.

 

 _School ends next week, lots to do._ It was true. Most of his time was now spent at the coffee shop studying while Ygritte worked, and when her shifts ended, they'd usually go to her flat. It was his turn to cook every night while she studied. Not distracting her turned out to be a difficult task.

 

_That's all?_

 

 _What do you mean?_ Jon knew exactly where this was going. He had not meant to keep his relationship with Ygritte a secret – his friends knew, and he had met a few of hers (although why she was friends with Orell he would never understand). But there had never been the right moment to tell his brother. Ygritte was his first real girlfriend, Jon was clueless how Robb would even react to the news.

 

 _School has never once stopped you from calling._ The sound of footsteps against stone echoed from the other end of the line, and for a brief moment Jon could see the halls of Winterfell, smell the ancient stones and worn wood, hear the fire crackling and the leafs of the Wolfswood bristling in the wind.

 

 _There's something..._ he muttered, sinking down on the floor. Ghost padded towards him, resting his heavy head on Jon's knees. The memory of the day him, Robb, Bran and Theon had found the whole litter of pups abandoned by the side of the road was sharp in his mind, despite the years that had passed since then. Even though they were scattered in the wind now – him here, Sansa in the capital, Arya across the sea on her exchange program – it was the dogs that tied them all together. The day they had to put down Lady had been a miserable one. Jon was still haunted sometimes by the look of despair on Sansa's gentle face. He shuddered, gently petting Ghost between his red eyes.

 

The silence was loaded with the crackling of the phone connection. For a second Jon thought he had lost Robb, but then his brother spoke again. _Who is she?_

 

_How do you-_

 

_I'm your brother. I know. Now tell me about her._

 

And he did. Gods was there a lot to tell. Ghost was fast asleep on his lap as Jon talked and talked, about the trip North – _you nearly die and don't bother to tell me?_ \- and the weeks spent talking to Ygritte, how smart and funny she was, how she made him laugh and shout and drove him as crazy as she made him happy. _I think you'd really like her_ , he ended, finally, eyes hooded with fatigue.

 

Robb laughed. _I think_ you _really like her._

 

For the first time, Jon imagined taking Ygritte to Winterfell, showing her his old room, the ancient Weirwood tree, the stables, where he'd played as a kid, the great hall and the hidden corners nobody else had found in hundreds of years. She'd call him spoiled and they'd stumble upon another reason to fight, but he wanted to take her there anyway. Take her home. _I really do._

 

.:.

 

It was in that moment she turned away from him that Jon regretted his suggestion. Her naked back stretched on, the orange glow of her bedside lamp casting warm shadows on her pale skin. His eyes were glued to the freckles scattered at the bottom of her spine, a constellation he had kissed a hundred times by now.

 

She walked over towards the large mirror propped against her bedroom wall, a bra and a damp towel flung over the wooden frame. _And what would I do at that castle of yours, Jon Stark?_ Her tone was mocking. With a playful smile, she reached for one of the sheets stacked on top of her dresser. Wrapping the white linen around her naked body, Ygritte swirled in a large circle. _Dance in a silk dress at a ball and drink champagne from crystal glasses?_

 

For a moment, Jon did nothing but take in the sight of her. How her skinny legs peeked out from underneath the sheet, how dangerously close it was to slipping and exposing her breasts, how the light illuminated the shades cast by her collarbones and the way her hair swirled as she danced softly through the room, humming a random tune.

 

 _Nobody wears silk dresses, you know._ He pushed himself up on his elbows, every inch of his naked skin still tingling. _There are no balls. And champagne is for special occasions._ It was what most people assumed when they found out he had grown up in an actual castle. The disappointment when he explained that it was nothing like the movies painted it out to be was usually written plainly across their faces.

 

Ygritte stopped her movements. _Well, that's a let down_. It was the sharp edge to her words that told Jon that she was not really disappointed at all, and the sheer fact was more painful to accept than he had thought.

 

 _So, what do you think?_ He asked, still slightly hopeful that she might agree. Ever since his conversation with Robb, Jon had played with the idea of inviting Ygritte to Winterfell. Summer was glowing outside, and they had more time on their hands than they could spend. But he knew it would not be an easy mission, which was why it had taken him so long to actually ask the question.

 

Ygritte's grin turned into a soft smile, and when she dropped the sheet onto the floor, Jon's eyes briefly flickered down the length of her body. Her steps were slow as she walked back towards the bed. The mattress dipped slightly when she crawled onto the rumpled blanket, and Jon reached out to brush her hair behind her ear.

 

Softly pressing her lips against his, the taste of her making Jon dizzy, she straddled his bare legs. The feel of her warm skin pressed against his own had his mind spinning, distracting him for a moment, everything fading away until only the softness of her remained.

 

 _Jon, it's sweet that this means so much to you._ He could barely hear her words, but he felt the gentle tug of her lips against his neck. Her hands roamed his chest, pushing herself closer against him, not a breath of air between them. _But can we just... take things slowly?_

 

Jon's eyes shot open at her words, only now realizing they had fallen shut. All he saw was the mane of red that was sprawled across his chest. The colour was that of soft flames – a candle in the darkness, the glow of the fireplace at Christmas – and not that of angry fire lashing at skin and turning it to ash. _You don't want to go._

 

Ygritte looked up to meet his gaze, and he could see her struggle not to look away. _It's not that I don't want to meet your family._ She cupped his cheek, soft fingers against dark stubble, a tender motion that only made Jon feel the heavy weight of her refusal more. _I mean, your step mom sounds like someone I'd rather avoid, but that's not it. It's just..._ Vulnerability was not a trait he associated with her. She always kept her walls up, just as he did. In this moment, however, Jon began to see it crumble. _Think about how ridiculous it is. Me in a bleeding castle._

 

Cold took over when she crawled out of his lap, sitting down on the cold edge of the bed furthest away from him. _I don't think it's ridiculous at all._ He reached out to touch his palm against her back, feeling her gentle shudder in response. _You'd like it._

 

Silence took over as his whisper was taken by the ticking of the clock. Softly, his fingers toyed with a strand of hair curling down her back, until Ygritte turned to look at him. Grasping his hand in hers, she tugged him towards her. _I like_ you _._

 

Her words lightened his heart aflame, and Jon smiled sadly as he leaned in to press a kiss against her temple. When his lips parted from her warm skin, he remained there, unwilling to move away, hearing her sharp inhale of breath. _It's a part of me, Ygritte._

 

With a sigh, she turned away from him, ending their embrace but never letting go of his hand. They fall asleep that way, an empty, cold space between them, but their fingers entwined to cross the distance.

 

.:.

 

The matter of visiting Winterfell did not come up again. Jon kept it locked away, afraid of pushing Ygritte too close to the precipice he knew they were dancing around. That last inch before the void that would take them somewhere else. Somewhere deeper. That would tie them to each other in ways neither of them were ready for.

 

Ygritte, he knew, hoped that keeping silent on the matter might cause the idea to wilt an dry up in his mind until it was forgotten. But she was fooling herself, because the more times she kissed him, the more times he watched her sleep peacefully in his arms, the deeper did the idea lodge itself into his heart.

 

His heart grew heavier by the minute, even when it was not burdened by the memory of her face when she had refused him. A week later, as he was laying on the floor in front of her sofa, she suddenly asked about his mother.

 

Jon looked at her with furrowed brows, the way she stood there with a dish towel in her hand and foam glistening on her black shirt. It was a topic that had come up only a handful of times in the months they had known each other, and a topic that threatened to crack the shell he had built around his heart whenever he wandered down that path.

 

But when she cocked her head curiously and sat down next to him, bare knees bumping into his side, he told her everything. Everything he did not know about the woman who had given birth to him – her name, what she looked like, what kind of a person she was. Everything he had always wanted her to be – kind and warm and proud of who he was. Everything that made him smile, and all the things that made him sad. He told her of a young boy watching his siblings in their mother's lap as he sat by the fireplace alone, unwrapping Christmas gifts with tears in his young eyes. Tales of a boy who roamed the hidden corners of Winterfell, wishing for his mother to walk through the gates, to wrap him in her arms and tell him how very much she loved him.

 

All the stories that were doomed to be just that. Stories.

 

He could not cry about the faceless woman who had haunted his dreams for so long, not any more. But there were tears in Ygritte's eyes, and when he kissed them away, she wrapped her hands around his shoulders, clinging to him until there was nothing left between them.

 

Jon wondered if she was trying to prove to him that she did care, that she was only afraid, not ready for the step he had made, the path he was willing to blaze for them. Her fingers curled softly around his hair, a gentle tug strong enough for him to meet her gaze.

 

He asked her then. Asked her about her mother, and the sadness in her eyes almost tore him apart.

 

Later, as she slept with her head on his chest, Jon's eyes fell upon the black and white photograph on the wall, the woman who smiled at them wearily now. In her tired eyes, he saw a similar sadness to the one he had kissed away just now, step by step as each word had poured out of Ygritte's mouth.

 

Perhaps blazing their path was the wrong way to go. Perhaps he needed to take her hand, and together they might find the way.

 

.:.

 

Ygritte's hand was clasped tightly around his. He felt the bare skin of her arm against the exposed skin of his own, the dry heat trapped at the crowded train station. Around them, people were bustling about, yelling and groaning, wiping the sweat off their foreheads.

 

More than once, Jon felt the sharp pain of someone's suitcase bumping against his leg or rolling over his feet, but Ygritte laughed it off. She seemed to be in a strangely good mood, all the tension of the last weeks forgotten. That morning, she had woken him with a trail of kisses along the side of his neck, had tried and failed to make pancakes in his kitchen – Jon had laughed more at the utter terror in Sam's eyes than the hilarity of Ygritte cursing loudly, pancake batter all over the place (though he suspected Sam might have been slightly intimidated by the fact that Ygritte had only worn one of Jon's old shirts, long white legs peeking out beneath the grey flannel).

 

There was the dim sound of a bell, but over all the commotion, Jon could not understand a single word that was announced over the ancient looking speakers. He looked down towards where the rails turned around a corner, where his sight was blocked by the red brick building of the train station. It was Ygritte who actually understood what had been said – how she could hear over the noise of arguing couples and crying children, he could not phantom – and within the minute, the tell-tale gust of wind danced around their legs.

 

Arya squealed when she spotted him through some poor woman's legs, speeding forward on light feet. She nearly tripped over a sour-looking man in a grey suit, but did not even turn to apologize before knocking the wind out of Jon. He hugged her to his chest tightly, lifting her off her feet.

 

She had grown, and the feel of her in his arms – soon too tall to be swept off her feet like this – tugged at his heart. Her skin was at least three shades darker than when he had last seen her, the heat of Bravos having left its mark on her. Through the curls of her dark hair, Jon saw Robb walking towards them, shaking his head as he flung a large bag over his shoulder.

 

The sight of his brother, the comfort of having Arya back safely and with a smile so bright on her lips – he remembered when she had hugged him goodbye months ago with tears in her eyes, and not even his reassuring words had calmed her down – it all flooded Jon with an overwhelming sense of home. A sensation he rarely ever felt.

 

Next to him, Ygritte watched the tender exchange curiously, and Jon felt relieved that he only spotted a hint of nervousness in her blue eyes before she directed her warm smile at Robb.

 

The ride back into town turned into the most effortless twenty minutes of Jon's life. It did not matter that Arya barely breathed in between talking or that she and Robb had to squeeze into the back seat in between a card box full of books and the usual array of clothes Ygritte never bothered to put away ( _I can try not swear too much around your sister, but if you think I'll clean my damn car just cause your brother is used to limousines and shit, you don't know anything, Jon Stark._ He could have told her about the absolute mess Robb's room had always been, but she had looked adorably proud of herself, and so he had stayed quiet, forcefully scrubbing a plate she should have cleaned days ago).

 

Arya insisted that it was the perfect day for ice cream in the park, and so they abandoned the car in the only shady spot they could find – parking would cost a fortune, and Jon knew he needed to find a quiet moment to remind Robb not to offer to pay for anything. With Arya jumping ahead of them, they made their way through a line of people on their way to the museum's Mammoth exhibition ( _We have to go see that, Jon!_ ), and as Robb asked her about her studies, Jon reached out for Ygritte's hand, the heavy iron gates of the park coming into view.

 

In the end, he ate most of Arya's abandoned ice cream, sitting in the shade under a large tree with Robb. For once, it was easy not to talk about their dead father, their sister's engagement or duties to the family. All they did was sit there on the grass, catching up on this and that as they watched Ygritte and Arya fight with sticks until they were both red-faced and out of breath. It was Arya who won, and while Jon was slightly impressed by how well Ygritte had fought, he kissed her cheek and murmured a quiet _thank you_ for her ears only. _I didn't let her win_ , she giggled, the whisper warm against the shell of his ear.

 

That rest of the afternoon passed in a blur, the four of them sprawled across the warm grass as the sun tickled their skin.

 

Later, Robb took them to a tucked away restaurant he had googled (Ygritte scoffed at that, but ended up eating most of Jon's lasagne while he went to the toilet). They argued over the consistency of the panna cotta and ordered every flavour of juice on the menu when Arya tried to prove that nothing had ever tasted better than apple juice (she was the only one to think that, but they all agreed that the carrot juice was vile and so the night was saved).

 

When they took Arya to the hotel, Ygritte rolled her eyes at the chandeliers in the lobby, the golden buttons on the elevator, the red carpet lining the white marble staircase. But she walked along anyway, ignoring the heads that turned after them. They did make an odd group.

 

Arya insisted on having Jon for herself, and as he sat down on her bed chuckling, he threw a glance in Ygritte's direction. There, by the door, she smiled softly at the two of them until Robb gently steered her out the door.

 

 _I like her_ , Arya said with a grin, and Jon kissed his sister's forehead.

 

_I like her, too._

 

_Good. Keep her._

 

He found Robb and Ygritte in the hotel bar when Arya had finally let him go - he did not mind, though, could listen to her stories all night as long as he knew his little sister was happy and safe. After their father's death, the shooting she had witnessed, Jon had feared that the carefree little girl would be lost. But she was still here, jumping on her bed and showing him the latest karate move she had learned. Now, she was fast asleep, a brave child, but a child still.

 

 _You're driving_ , Ygritte proclaimed when he sat down on the plush black seat around a purple glass table. An empty glass stood in front of her, and her fingers were wrapped around another.

 

He drew his eyebrows up until they disappeared beneath the wild curls of his hair, looking at Robb. His brother was grinning mischievously, lifting the beer he was holding. _Am I now?_

 

Ygritte nodded, sipping on her drink. _I'm trying to prove that a girl can take more than your lordling brother._ Robb laughed so hard he snorted, beer spraying all across the surface of the table, and Jon quickly wiped it away with a napkin before the waiter could see - he had noticed the foul expression on his face on his way in.

 

She won. Of course she did. Jon could have warned Robb, but he figured his brother was man enough to take a challenge and stomach a loss. Midnight had long come and gone when they walked out of the hotel to the parking lot, the stars sparkling in the sky and a cool breeze whisking through the trees that lined the lot.

 

As Ygritte crawled into the passenger seat, Jon turned to say goodnight to Robb. There was still all weekend to spend with his siblings, but for tonight, he was glad to be one step closer to a soft bed. Robb smiled, his eyes a little glassy, but he could stomach a lot and Jon had seen him worse before (They never spoke about Theon's seventeenth birthday. Ever.).

 

 _Well done_ , Robb said quietly so that only Jon could hear, and with a reassuring clap on his shoulder, Jon followed his brother's eyes towards Ygritte. She was tapping her thumb against the bear that dangled from her rear view mirror, humming softly into the night.

 

Jon only nodded.

 

.:.

 

Ygritte was fuming when she threw her phone onto the sofa. _Stupid idiot_. Jon watched as the blood shot into her cheeks and spread down across her neck and collarbones. She marched up and down the room, muttering curses under her breath.

 

To say he was confused would have been an understatement. Jon put down the take-away noodles. _What's wrong?_

 

She stopped at his words, turning on the spot. The movement caused her hair to circle around her head, catching at her lips. _Tormund._ With trembling fingers, she tucked the strand of hair back behind her ear. _The idiot's invited us to dinner. Says he wants to meet you._ The groan that escaped her was much deeper than anything Jon had ever heard from her lips. _Dinner. The idiot can't even make a sandwich that tastes decent._

 

Jon saw the anger mingling with despair in her eyes. Quietly, he stood up from the sofa, ignoring the prickling where his leg had gone numb under him. He gently put his hands on Ygritte's arms, left exposed by the sleeveless shirt she wore. Softly, his thumbs began to draw circles on her skin, and he felt her relax slightly under the soothing touch.

 

 _That's not what bothers you, is it?_ His voice was calm, quiet enough for a shiver to run through Ygritte. She sighed, resting her forehead against his chest.

 

 _You wanted me to meet your family and I said no._ The warmth of her breath tickled his neck, and Jon pulled her more tightly into his arms. Gladly, she sank into the embrace, wrapping her hands around his stomach to curl into his shirt at his back. He had not realized how much her refusal to visit Winterfell had been eating at her.

 

 _We'll have dinner with him._ He muttered the words into the thick softness of her hair, drawing his fingers up and down her spine. _I don't mind bad sandwiches. Yours kind of suck, too._

 

In his arms, she broke out in laughter, but somewhere underneath it all, he could hear the tears she was trying to hold back.

 

The moment Tormund opened the door, Jon regretted his decision. Sure, he had seen pictures of the man – he remembered the one Ygritte kept in her wallet, the one of her sixth birthday, hair in pigtails, sitting on Tormund's lap with her small birthday cake in front of her. But nothing could have prepared him for the real sight.

 

The man was abnormally huge, more than a head taller than Jon, with broad shoulders and thick arms. His wild red hair stood in all directions, his beard reaching far beyond his chin. Ygritte stood on the threshold with her arms crossed in front of her chest, still not happy with the invitation.

 

Jon swallowed when Tormund looked down at him, the same penetrating gaze that Ygritte had mastered so well. _So, you're that Stark kid._

 

 _I am_ , Jon responded with what he hoped was a polite smile. Ygritte pushed past Tormund into the house. Tormund turned to look after her, shaking his head.

 

_She's a tough one._

 

Ultimately, Jon was surprised how easy it was to be around Tormund. He was a funny guy, bursting with stories he gladly told over the beer he kept pouring into Jon's tall glass, and very quickly, Jon figured where Ygritte had gotten her foul mouth from.

 

Whenever Tormund's laughter bellowed through the living room - tiny and filled to the brim with furniture, but oddly tidy compared to Ygritte's flat – she rolled her eyes, until finally, she seemed to bury the hatchet and began to smile herself. Under the table, she curled her fingers around Jon's, squeezing tightly. She even laughed when Tormund began to tell Jon stories about her – although she did slap him across the arm when he started a story about the time she was fifteen and...

 

Chewing on the steak, Jon felt himself calm down and feel a lot more comfortable than he had upon arriving. Tormund seemed genuinely interested, asked questions about his school and family - _Nasty business with your father. Can't say I approved of everything he did, but that's not the way to go._ Jon pretended not to notice the warning glare that Ygritte threw across the table, but he brushed his thumb over her knuckles under the table, wordlessly telling her that it was alright.

 

After they finished eating – Tormund clearing Ygritte's plate and the last of the potatoes – she rushed off to the kitchen to grab some ice cream. _Need to wash down the taste of that steak, how much pepper did you put on it?_ Tormund laughed at that, loud and deep, grumbling like thunder. Slowly, he began to pile up the empty plates, and Jon stood to help. For a moment, they worked in silence, only the clinging of the dishes mingling with the music of the radio. But then Jon felt a large hand pressing against his shoulder.

 

Tormund was standing close, towering over him. His face seemed kind, or as kind as it ever would be, but there was a tension that sparked between them. _I like you boy._ The words were sincere. Still, Jon felt his breath coming in short pants, and he swallowed, forcing himself to look into the man's eyes. _But if you hurt her, I'll rip your guts out through your throat._

 

Almost immediately after his words made room for silence, Tormund dropped his hand and went back to the dishes. Jon stood motionlessly for a while, staring at the back of Tormund's head.  _I won't._ The words left a bitter taste on his tongue, and the sound of them was choked, the air struggling to flood down into his lungs.

 

_Do you only have chocolate?_ Ygritte suddenly called from the kitchen, and both men turned to the open door at the other end of the room. 

 

_There's hazelnut somewhere in the back_ , Tormund replied, eyes turning back towards Jon. There was a softness there he would not have anticipated, but still he towered over him. 

 

_She's tough. She doesn't need me to protect her, and she don't need you neither._ He spoke quietly enough for the words not to carry into the kitchen, but loud enough for Jon to hear both the warning and the advice in them.  _She's strong. But not as strong as she wants you to believe._

 

As Jon grabbed the empty beer bottles, he saw something in Tormund's eyes that reminded him of sadness. Ygritte had never really explained to him who exactly Tormund was, why he had raised her after her parents had died. But whatever his reasons were, Jon could see the genuine love for her in his eyes.

 

 _You've already had those peas when I still lived here._ The words Jon had been about to say, the ones that still tickled his tongue – three words he had not even thought about before but that were now screaming at him inside his head – died when Ygritte walked back into the kitchen. In one hand, she carried two containers of ice cream, one stacked upon the other, while a bag of frozen peas dangled from the fingers of her other hand. _You should dump them._

 

Tormund cast Jon a short glance, nodding so barely that Ygritte would never have noticed.

 

Jon heard little of the following argument over the expiration date of frozen goods. All he could do was take in Ygritte, the curve of her jaw, the red on her cheeks, the shadows of her lashes, the curls of her hair, the way she threw her hands in the air in frustration, the way her lips moved when she spoke, pink and soft and warm. He knew. He also knew that there was a large freckle just beneath her tail bone, or that she got goosebumps when he touched the palm of her hands. He knew that she drank tea when it was still boiling hot, or that she knew no mercy when it came to killing spiders. He knew that sometimes she trailed her finger across her mother's picture and that she sometimes stared in the mirror with a foreign sadness in her eyes. He knew she always fell asleep watching television and that she liked to bury her face in his chest at night.

 

He knew all those things. And now he knew one more thing, and it rested in his heart like a hot stone, heavy and burning.

 

He knew now. Or he started to think that he did.

 

.:.

 

_Mance gave me next weekend off, did you have any plans?_

 

_Out of the two of us, you're usually the one who has plans._

 

_Remember those caves I told you about?_

 

.:.

 

On Friday morning, Jon cleared out Ygritte's car, making room for the dozen bags of groceries she had brought with her from the supermarket ( _how long exactly are we staying?_ ). Every last inch of the trunk was crammed with clothes, food, sleeping bags and blankets. Jon could not hide the slight worry whether or not the car would even make it all the way north, but Ygritte only brushed it off with a smile and a deep kiss that left him breathless.

 

On Friday afternoon, Ygritte tore apart their third attempt at printing a map, Jon's printer only now deciding to give up on them. Sam and Gilly had shut the door to his room, and Ygritte had thrown out her own broken printer weeks ago. So, with sour expressions on their faces, they made their way down the road to the only copy shop nearby. They left with a shiny print of the needed map, hands entangled, roaring with laughter at the creepy customer in front of them who had tried to make copies of a magazine that made Jon's cheeks flush. _I have more work to do, I see_ , Ygritte had whispered in his ear when she noticed the bright red of his cheeks, slipping her hand into the back pocket of his jeans.

 

Friday night, Jon lay awake for a long time, smoothing his fingers through Ygritte's curls as she slept soundly, cheek pressed against the place where his heart beat calmly.

 

On Saturday morning, so early the sun had not even broken through yet, only a dim orange glow present to illuminate the nearly empty parking lot behind Ygritte's apartment building, she ushered him into the passenger seat of her car. He wiped the sleep from his eyes, yawning as she climbed in beside him. She was wearing sweat pants and one of his shirts, hair pulled back into a pony tail and eyes still swollen with sleep. Just as she was about to turn the key in the ignition, Jon leaned over towards her, pressing his lips against her temple. _Thanks for this_ , he whispered, nudging his nose against her cheek.

 

He saw the slight flush on her cheeks, and when her lips caught his, he pulled her as close to him as their seatbelts allowed. A few minutes later, they were on their way, the streets empty, even long after they left the city behind them.

 

On Saturday afternoon, Ygritte hit him deftly on the arm with the map. The map he had been reading wrong. _How much brain do you have left under that pretty hair of yours?_ She shouted across the deserted parking lot, the harsh wind blowing around them, setting free strand after strand of her hair. In the end, she laughed, throwing him the key. _You're driving. I'm reading the map._

 

Saturday night, just after the sun had set over the vast planes of untouched wilderness, Ygritte excitedly grabbed his hand and pulled him through a narrow slit between two rocks. His legs were tired from the long hike and the even longer ride in the car before that, but when he saw what lay hidden behind the rough rocks, he forgot about all of it.

 

The cave was much larger than he had thought, almost entirely blanketed in darkness. A waterfall rushed steadily on one side, falling in gentle rains down into a pool. The stone seemed smoothed by the constant contact with the water, and the place was sheltered from both the wind and the cold. Even in summer, these lands were rougher and less pleasant than any other further south.

 

Ygritte propped her backpack against a large boulder, kneeling down to unclasp the lamp they had brought from the side of the bag. _Put up the other one, too. Don't want to break a leg._ Jon heard her faintly, but his eyes were too taken by the hidden cave to really take notice of her words. Not until she called his name was he pulled out of his revelry, and he rummaged through his own backpack to find the other lamp.

 

Once they burned, the cave walls came alive with dances of flames and shadows.

 

 _What do you think?_ Ygritte asked, unzipping her coat. Jon watched her as she slipped out of the red fabric, hands grabbing the hemline of her shirt to pull it over her head.

 

 _It's amazing_. Jon could not take his eyes off Ygritte, though, as she continued to undress, her clothes forming a small pile at her feet. He could feel his hands trembling, remembering a different time she had taken her clothes off like this. The memory made him smile to himself.

 

 _What are you waiting for?_ She asked as the last piece of fabric left her body. Turning away from him, she slowly walked over towards the pool, the sight of her in the dim light of the cave breathtaking. Jon swallowed, shrugging out of his own coat.

 

There was a splash when Ygritte jumped into the water, and her content laughter echoed through the cave a hundred times.

 

By the time he joined her, surprised by how warm the water was, Ygritte's hair was soaked and her skin soft beneath his touch. The pool was not very deep, but deep enough for them to disappear shoulder-deep into the water, and Ygritte swam into his arms, hands curling around his neck. Her kisses were fire on his skin as she scattered them along his jaw and down his neck.

 

But it wasn't what he wanted. His fingers curled under her chin, gently pulling her face towards his. The words he had longed to say since that night at Tormund's house lingered on the tip of his tongue, but he could not quite form them, was not quite sure they were right. So, instead, he closed the gap between them and kissed her lips, hands smoothing around her waist under water to pull her flush against him. In the water, everything was light, nothing between them but softness and warmth, and she curled herself around him more and more with each breath he swallowed.

 

On Sunday morning, Jon woke to soft lips peppering kisses down his chest. His eyes were foggy when he opened them, the darkness of the cave a welcome sight, yet not as welcome as the realization that Ygritte had pulled away the blanket he had thrown over them during the night, and was now straddling his thighs. _Morning_ , he murmured, stretched his arms, fingers digging into the sleeping bag beneath him.

 

They had build a fort of blankets up against a boulder. It had been the soft rush of the waterfall and the steadiness of Ygritte's breath against his side that had lulled him into a deep sleep, and he felt more rested than he had in years.

 

 _Morning_ , Ygritte replied, her voice muffled as she pressed a kiss just above his belly button. The touch send ripples through his stomach, the muscles of his abdomen twitching, and he exhaled a shaky breath. _You were snoring._

 

Jon scoffed, his fingers reaching down to run across Ygritte's shoulders. Above him, she trembled at the light touch, her hands plastered firmly on the sleeping bag to keep herself steady. _I only snore when I have a cold._

 

Warm lips brushed from one side of his stomach to the other, the feel of her soft thighs pressing against his own sending a jolt up his spine. _No, you don't._ He could feel her grin against his skin, and was about to ruffle his hand through her hair - she hated that, and he loved how her cheeks would always flush and she'd clap his hands away – when she trailed her mouth even lower.

 

He said nothing after that, nothing but her name as it left his lips in a sharp exhale.

 

On Sunday afternoon, Jon nearly burned his bad hand again when Ygritte pushed him roughly out of the way. For someone so tiny, she possessed quite a lot of strength. Jon groaned as his back flatly hit the ground, and Ygritte looked away from the small bonfire he had tried to stir – _you're doing it all wrong, let me._ When she saw him there, flat on his back and his legs angled into the air, she broke out laughing, holding her stomach.

 

 _Not funny_ , he scoffed, crawling back into a sitting position. By the time the fire was finally big enough to heat up the soup they had brought, Ygritte was still laughing so hard she had tears streaming down her face. For a moment, Jon was worried she might suffocate, but decided that right now she deserved it.

 

She grasped his arm, her laughter turning into sob-like breaths, and he shook his head, unable to fight the grin any more that had tickled his lips for minutes now.

 

Above them, the sky was spotlessly blue, and the dry grass beneath them stretched on and on until the horizon swallowed it whole.

 

Ygritte's legs were thrown lazily across his lap, most of the milky skin exposed by the shorts she wore. Jon's fingers – warmed by the cup of soup he had been holding, now stacked mindlessly by the side of the crackling fire – trailed the goosebumps erupting on her skin. They sat there for a long time, under the sky and in utter silence, staring into the dancing flames of the fire. When the flames began to weaken, Ygritte took his hand in her own, drawing her thumb in circular patterns over the scarred skin of palm. The sensation was numbed by the thick scar tissue, but he felt it all the same.

 

Pulling her gently into his side, Jon kissed her forehead, never untangling their hands, and when the sun disappeared behind the horizon as one large red ball of fire, the utter peace almost overwhelmed him.

 

Sunday night, one of the lamps broke. The cave was almost entirely dark, but neither of them cared. Ygritte's arms were wrapped around his back, fingernails digging in deeply as she breathed into his neck, lips pressing against his rapidly beating carotid artery.

 

His own breathing was just as ragged. Fatigue spread through his arms, making it harder and harder to support his weight. The way Ygritte clung to him, he knew she probably would not mind if he crushed her right now. But still, he pressed his elbows deeper into the sleeping bag beneath her.

 

With a sigh, Ygritte brushed one of her hands down his back, pulling him gently but firmly closer to her. He was still inside her, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, the taste of her still on his tongue.

 

The sound of her name fell from his lips in a husky whisper, his nose trailing up the side of her neck until she turned. Beneath him, her hair resting around her head like a crown, she smiled softly.

 

 _Let's not go back_ , she whispered softly, cupping his cheek in her hand. _I don't ever want to leave this cave_. Her lips were a mere inch away from his own, so close he could taste her words on his tongue, feel the warmth of her breath sending shivers throughout his body. _Not ever._ When he kissed her, he promised himself never to forget her words, longing to make them come true.

 

Here, far away from everyone else and from the world they lived in, nothing mattered but the two of them. There were no schools, no money, no fear and no fights. It was her and him. Just like she had told him that day in the park. _It's you and me that matters to me and you_ , her words echoed in his memory as he swallowed her soft moan. He wanted to freeze this moment, trap the two of them in it until the world fell to dust around them.

 

On Monday morning, when Ygritte was asleep in the passenger seat, her lips slightly parted, hair dancing in the soft breeze that came in through the open window, Jon knew for sure.

 

He loved her.

 

.:.

 

He never found the right moment to tell her.

 

When she was happy, he did not want to burden her with it. When she was sad, he did not want her to connect the words with pain. When she was angry, he felt like she did not deserve to know. When she was brave, he felt like a coward.

 

No one had ever told him how this worked. How did you tell someone you love them? How could those three words even remotely describe how important she was to him? How much she had changed him. How much better his life was with her by his side. How _deeply_ she had changed him. Was there ever a right moment to open up to her in such a way? To pour out the deepest of his feelings, to lay them out in the open. To expose himself?

 

He waited and waited, fear growing inside of him like a wildfire.


	3. part three . ash

and high above the world below  
it seems we left our mark  
take my hand tonight   
we'll leave our troubles in the dark

  
**josh healey** , [when the wind blows](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N253YMo5Bd8)

 

They lasted the summer.

 

By the time the leafs turned red and brown and yellow, Ygritte began to squirm in his arms at night, moved away from him instead of seeking warmth. She suddenly grew quiet and weary, and when she did talk to him, her usual mockery was filled witha venom Jon did not recognize. She made up more and more excuses not to spend time with him, ignored his calls and messages. When he kissed her, she ended it quickly.

 

The right moment had come and gone, Jon knew it deep down. But he held on, anyway. Fought his way through each minute, each day. Fought for them, because the fear of losing her, losing another person he loved, was, even in theory, much more than he could handle.

 

But everything was different. She was different, and with that, he changed, as well.

 

Suddenly, it seemed to matter that he was a Stark. In a last attempt to win back the affection he seemed to have lost for a shadowy reason he could not uncover, he invited her to Arya's birthday, remembering how much they had liked each other, and the night ended with smashed plates and hateful screams.

 

_What are you even doing?_ she yelled at him, not even waiting for an answer as she furiously scrubbed a plate. _You grew up in that big ass castle of yours and you're going to that posh school and what am I doing? What do you even want from me?_

 

Somehow, she seemed to accuse him and Jon choked on his words, clueless to what had happened between them. That night, he grabbed his clothes and what little other possessions he kept in her flat and carried them out the door with tears gathering in his eyes. This was what he had been afraid of all along. 

 

He sat by the side of the road for a long time, wondering if he made the wrong decision. But he could still feel the dull ache where the plate had smashed against his back and the agonizing burn of holding back tears.

 

He loved her. And now it filled him only with pain. He loved her. And she never even knew.

 

.:.

 

He had always been a miserable, poor excuse for a guy his age. A loner who spent more time with his freak dog than with the few friends he did have. A motherless boy who had never really belonged anywhere. A virgin, the quiet, sullen guy in the corner who would rather bury his head in the sand than talk to anyone. Awkward, shy, stubborn and jealous. Eddard Stark's bastard son, privileged and spoiled, a loser who was best friends with someone like Sam Tarly.

  
And then Ygritte had come along.

  
He changed with her. Laughed with her, let her open his eyes. She taught him, more than he ever really understood while they were together. He had touched her, kissed her in places that flushed his cheeks when he remembered. She was his key to a whole different world. He had never belonged there, either - in Ygritte's world. Only alone with her by his side did he feel like he finally belonged somewhere. Now she was gone, and he was lost.

  
Life without her was even more miserable than life before her had been.

  
He did not want to leave his room, skipped school more and more because the thought of crawling out of bed and walking through the rain seemed impossible. Robb called him almost every day after finding out that he had left Ygritte, and for a few days, Jon ignored his brother. The last thing he needed was to hear Robb tell him how stupid he was - neither did he want to explain what went wrong. He still had no clue.

  
She was everywhere. The pictures of her on his phone which he could not bring himself to delete. The scattered clothes he found all over his room - they smelled like her, smoky and warm and sweet and he washed and ironed them, folded them gently into a package and scribbled her name and address on top. He could not bring them to her. He could not see her, had not been to the coffee shop in weeks - or anywhere, really.

  
Only when Sam sat him down one night did Jon realize how pathetic he really was. Quiet, shy and cowardly Sam was the one to tell him that he needed to get over Ygritte, go out and get going with his life. Jon wanted to be angry - Sam just didn't understand, _nobody_ understood what Ygritte had been to him - but he couldn't. Sam only wanted to help, was genuinely worried and knew enough of broken hearts.

  
_I loved her._ It was the first time he had said it out loud, and the words left a bitter sweet taste on his tongue. A taste so different from her own.

  
_What was it like?_

  
They sat there for a while, Jon and Sam, and after he stuttered an explanation of what it had felt like to love Ygritte, to have her love him back - because that was what he drilled into his aching heart night after night to both ease and worsen the pain, that she _did_ love him - Jon began to think that maybe Sam was beginning to understand.

  
The next day, he called Robb and suggested they meet up. It felt odd to walk down the streets and watch the world pass by the windows of the train - when had all this snow covered the world, how had he missed the beginning of winter? Winter had always been his season, grey and cold.

  
Winterfell towered grandly above the world, just as Jon remembered it. But he could not help but feel the sting in his chest when he walked down the familiar corridors. He had wanted to take her here, show her all the hidden corners and share secrets only he knew.

 

Robb hugged him tightly. They did not talk about Ygritte, and Jon was grateful for it. He knew he needed to get over her. Still, he longed to keep her close, lock all the memories - good and bad and perfect and infuriating - away. Keep them all for himself.

 

.:.

 

When he saw Sansa's name on his phone's screen, he knew something was wrong.

 

Jon could not recall ever having talked to his sister on the phone - had not even been sure she actually had his number - and now it was late at night and the rain was drumming violently against his window. When he picked up, Sansa's words were barely even understandable. She was sobbing, choking on her words and it took Jon a while to understand.

 

_Robb. Talisa. Car bomb. Dead._

 

He understood her rambling, but he could not grasp what it meant. When he hung up, the last thing he heard was a suppressed wail, and for the first time ever, he longed to take Sansa's hand the way he always took Arya's and tell her everything would be alright. He loved his sister, and there had never been bad blood between them. But with Sansa, there had always been a tense quietness. Ever since she had been old enough to understand that Jon was only her brother by half, she had been the only one of his siblings to whom it seemed to matter.

  
Rickon was still a little too young to really understand what it meant, Arya was more his own flesh and blood than even his father had been. Bran had always looked up to him, admired him, followed after him. And Robb...

  
Robb was dead.

 

.:.

 

_You know nothing._ Ygritte's words echoed in his mind sharply.

 

He really knew nothing in this moment. Knew not what to do, whether to cry or scream or stare silently at a wall. Whether to smash something or tear down all the pictures on the wall or fall asleep in tears.

 

He could not stay in his room. Not when Robb was smiling at him from the wall, not when the sweater he had gotten him for his birthday four years ago was lying on top of the laundry pile. Jon stormed out of his room, not even bothering to be quiet. He did not want to talk to Sam right now, but if he woke up, so be it.

 

The couch was a mess, littered with books and plates, and the floor was scattered with papers and empty soda cans.

 

_Robb is dead. Talisa is dead. Robb is dead. He just told me she was pregnant last week. He is gone, they are dead. They blew up. Someone blew them up. I would have been an uncle. Maybe a godfather. They're dead now. All three of them. Robb is gone._

 

Jon grabbed a half-empty glass from the table and smashed it against the wall, watching the dark lines of coke run down the white wall. Not bothering to put on a coat, not even taking his keys, he grabbed his boots and stormed out of the flat, tears burning in his eyes.

 

It was raining even harder now, the wind driving the icy drops deeply into his skin. Jon wrapped his arms around his quickly soaked sweater, keeping his head down. The moon was hidden, the street lights dimmed by the rain. Occasionally, a car drove past him, splashing water against his rapidly soaking jeans, but he barely felt the cold. He just kept walking, brisk steps that burned in his thighs after a while. Still, he pushed forward. There was nothing behind him, nowhere to hide. He could not run from the pain, but he could drown it in rain and icy cold.

 

It was not until he stood in front of her door that Jon realized he must have been walking for well over an hour. There was not a piece of fabric on his body left dry, his hair was plastered to his face and the cold start to seep into his bones. His fingers felt numb when he knocked harshly on her door.

 

What am I even doing here? The small voice in his head repeated the question over and over, but something about this must have been right. Why else had he come here?

 

The door flung open after the third knock, and he looked down at Ygritte, her phone clutched in her hand, eyes watery with unshed tears. Over her shoulder, he saw the lights flickering from the television, news footage of a burning ruin that was once a car. The image felt like a stab in the guts, and he looked back at Ygritte to escape the haunting scene. Her hair was longer than the last time he had seen her, cascading over her shoulders. She wore only a long-sleeved shirt, bottomed up wrong as she always did. Her face seemed fuller, the circles under her eyes darker. She was still as beautiful as he remembered, and everything he had tried so hard to lock away came rushing back.

 

Jon was pulled back into reality when she flung her phone at his chest. _You complete arse, why aren't you picking up your phone?_ Then she had her arms around him and did not seem to mind that he was soaking wet and cold. She grasped at him, burying her head in his chest, and Jon felt a weight crumbling into dust that he had carried for too long. Finally allowing the tears to run free, he pulled her closer. Together, they stumbled back into her flat, the front door falling shut as they sank to the floor.

 

His tears were captured by her soft hair – he could smell her shampoo and buried his face deeply in her curls. _I'm so sorry_. She whispered the words over and over again, looking up at him. Her palm cupped his cheeks, wiping away some of the tears that were leaving a salty trail on his cold cheek.

 

Eventually, they untangled themselves from one another, and Ygritte switched off the television. She ushered him into the small bathroom, still littered with clothes and empty shampoo bottles, and when Jon pulled his soaked sweater over his head, she hesitated. Her palm found his heart, and the weary smile she gave him reminding him of times long gone. She left him after that, pointing to a stack of clothes on the heater that belonged to him.

 

He stayed under the hot shower until his skin was red and raw. The mirror was fogged, and he pressed his hand against it, watching his hand print slowly disappear. The tears had stopped, but the throbbing pain in his heart only grew worse.

 

Pulling on the sweat pants he found in the stack of clothes he must have forgotten here when he had left her so suddenly all those months ago (he had turned his room upside down looking for that one red shirt) and combing his hair numbly with his fingers, he stepped out of the bathroom. Ygritte was sitting on the floor with her legs crossed beneath her, still wearing her now damp shirt, fingers curling around a cup of tea.

 

_There's one for you by the sink._

 

It was hot and burned his tongue when he gulped it down, but he needed all the heat he could get to burn away the pain. Heat or cold, either was both good and not good enough.

 

He called Sam later, someone else who called him names for not answering his phone, the phone that was still where he had dropped it after Sansa's call – _it looked like fucking blood on the wall and then Pyp calls and tells me to look at the news and you're nowhere to be found, never do that again what were you thinking?_

 

It was almost four in the morning by the time he fell asleep, his head in Ygritte's lap and her fingers soothing through his drying hair. He could feel her lips pressing softly against his forehead when she thought he was asleep, but perhaps it was all just a dream.

 

.:.

 

When she did see Winterfell, he did not have the heart to show her anything. During the entire drive, they had sat in her car in silence, the black of their clothes drowning any thirst for conversation.

 

The morning after Robb and Talisa's death, when Jon had woken with his head still in Ygritte's lap, he had asked her to come to the funeral with him. She had nodded with such sadness in her eyes, and Jon nearly laughed at the wrongness of it all. Months before, he had begged and pleaded with her to come to Winterfell with him so he could show her the place he had spent his childhood, share all the happy memories with her. Now, she had agreed. Now that he could find no happiness left in the stone walls.

 

Too many people were gathered around the two graves in the ground, people Jon had never known, people he had never wanted to see again. He stood next to Sansa, her eyes glassy and lacking all of their usual spirit. A sight so frightful he only dared to look at her twice. From the side, he could see Catelyn, a stoic expression on her pale face. Her arms were wrapped around Rickon and Arya, their faces hidden in her long, black coat, and Jon wanted to scream into the loaded silence, scream at all the injustice in the world.

 

Beside him, Ygritte rested her hand on his arm, a chaste and almost polite touch. It was all there was between them, the comfort she could give him and the darkness he gave her in return.

 

He almost skipped the reception at Winterfell's great hall, but Ygritte ushered him through the heavy gates. _They need you_. It felt as though he shook hundreds of hands, listened to endless claims of condolences. They were all lies, all fake, all so hollow and pointless he wanted to smack them all against the stone walls. In the crowd, Ygritte was lost.

 

When he found her again, she stood outside the castle gates, arms wrapped around herself. For the longest moment, they stood in silence, gazing off into the distance where the castle grounds began to awaken from their winter sleep. _You were right_ , she murmured, pulling a packet of cigarettes from her pocket. _I would have liked it here._

 

The words rang with all the bitterness they had buried over the last few days, unwilling to bring them up with Robb's death looming over them. All the things they should have done, all the things he should have said. He shook his head when she offered him the cigarettes, watching her instead as she touched the white paper to her pale lips.

 

Back inside, he introduced her to Bran, Rickon and Sansa. He was glad when neither of them asked who exactly Ygritte was, not even Sansa, whose smile never reached her eyes and whose kind words were thick with grief. Who was she now? He would have had no answer. Not his girlfriend any more, and could they ever be friends? Did she want to be his friend? Was he ready to be her friend?

 

No conversation lasted long, no one able to muster enough strength for even the slightest curtsey. Jon stayed clear of Catelyn, had not spoken to her all day. Sansa had just excused herself, disappearing into the crowd in her black dress until even the red of her hair was lost to him, when his eyes met Catelyn's. She held the gaze for a mere breath before turning away, but Arya did not miss him, untangling herself from her mother's embrace.

 

Arya wrapped her arms tightly around Ygritte after Jon had finally sat her feet back on the ground. Her innocent eyes were red with tears, and the grip of her hands was so tight that he could see the white of her knuckles.

 

_I looked up explosions, you know. I think they didn't even know what was happening. They just died. Just like that._ Her words twisted sharply in Jon's guts, and he looked helplessly at Ygritte. The tears glistening in her eyes took him by surprise. He didn't have the heart to speak up when Arya proclaimed how happy she was that they were back together, a soft smile lightening up her face, and when Ygritte took his hand in her own, fingers intertwining, her thumb pressing gently into the scars on his palm, he wanted so badly to believe in it all.

 

Arya pleaded with him, but he could not stay. The walls of Winterfell were howling at him through the storm that raged inside his chest, each stone reminding him of his lost brother.

 

So, by the time Ygritte pulled up her car in front of his apartment building, the night was dark around them. She killed the engine, the yellow glow of the street lights outside illuminating the car. For a few minutes, they sat in complete silence, neither of them sure what to say. The tension was so thick Jon felt as though he might reach out and touch it, just like the invisible question that danced around them in bloody circles.

 

_What went wrong?_ He had spoken so little today that the words felt unfamiliar as they spilled from his mouth, bitter and resentful, quiet but so loud in the silence of the night.

 

A car passed by them, the headlights almost blinding, but Jon stared right into them, glad for the few moments it took his eyes to readjust. _What?_ When he could see again, he just saw her lips form the short question, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

 

_Us._ He noticed how her fingers were still curled around the key in the ignition, index finger toying with the key he knew opened the door to her flat. _What went wrong?_ All of it came rushing back, the shouts and turned heads, the coldness and the wall that had stood between them like ice, built out of nowhere. _One day everything was great and then... Then it was so bad you made me leave._

 

He recalled that day with terrifying precision, no matter how hard he had fought to bury it beneath the good memories. _Jon_... Ygritte whispered his name, eyes falling shut despite the suffocating darkness. _Not now._

 

_When then?_ He sounded a lot angrier than he had intended. There was no strength left in him to fight, but he knew he deserved an answer, and if he did not get one now, he feared he never would. Taking a deep breath, never taking his eyes off her, he continued, lowering his voice but demanding an answer all the same. _I never asked. But I still want to know._

 

She must have known the question would eventually arise, but her sigh spoke of how much she wanted to avoid the subject, bury it the way they had done for weeks until all the heat had coiled so tightly that it erupted and ended all the good things they had shared in one stroke. _This isn't the right time_. Her voice was shaky, crumbling in the darkness. Jon watched as her hand fell limply into her lap, the fingers kneading nervously.

 

Anger began to burn inside of him, anger at her, at the world, at the faceless shadow that had suffocated all the light between them, the shadow he had been so helpless against. He deserved to know, he needed to know and she had no right. No right at all to keep him in the darkness any longer, to keep the secret that she carried locked away. Just as he had no right to do the same. _I loved you_ , he spat out, red hot words that shot through the silence like bullets. _Did you even know that?_ In the end, it had been so easy to say the words, but all she did was stare at him, eyes hidden in the darkness, too far away for him to read. His voice softened then, despair and sadness finally grabbing a hold, the burning of tears in his eyes like acid in a wound. _Did you not care about me at all?_

 

A shaky breath escaped Ygritte's lips, the sort of breath that was rendered broken by tears that could not be shed. _Oh, you really know nothing_ , she said with a fiery edge to her voice, and then her hands were wrapped tightly in his hair and her lips warm and urgent against his own, and Jon remembered just how much he loved her, and how deep and endless the void inside of him was where she had changed him, filled him, shaped him. For a few second, his hands pulling her to him until he felt her breath inside his mouth and her warmth against every inch of him, it was him and her, and nothing else. No secrets, no lies, no differences. 

 

It was simple again, just for a moment.

 

.:.

 

Jon was not entirely sure if he was avoiding her, or if Ygritte was avoiding him. But the next few days came and went without a word exchanged, and the insecurity grew exponentially inside of him. He knew there was no real way in the world for them to go back to how things had once been, but returning to a life without her was out of the question now. At least for him.

 

When she opened the yellow door of her flat to him, Jon felt as nervous as the first time he had been here, when she had been a mystery to uncover, a riddle to solve. She looked at him with eyes widened in surprise, but the smile that greeted him after a few seconds was genuine, lightening up her blue eyes.

 

The place looked different from how he remembered it from their time together, and he only realized it now. Days ago, after he had run through the rain without a destination until his feet had carried him back into her arms, he had been dazed and unfocused. Only now, as he kicked his shoes off and really took in the room did he notice that one red wall was now painted a bright yellow, and that the piles of clothes that had always lined the floor like a trail were gone. It seemed tidier, less chaotic. In one of the corners, Ygritte had squeezed a desk, apparently no longer working on her laptop while sitting on the floor.

 

He leaned against one of the counters, watching silently as Ygritte poured him a cup of tea. Faintly, he heard her words, chatting about the weather, school and nothing in particular, but his eyes got caught at the sight of his own face smiling back at him.

 

There, on the fridge that had always been littered with notes, receipts and pictures, was a photograph of him and Ygritte, pinned to the door with a magnet the shape of wolf. In the picture, Ygritte's freckled shoulders were exposed beneath the thin straps of her dress, and her pink lips were stretched into a wide smile. His own hands were slung around her, smiling into the camera with his chin pressed against the top of her head. Strands of red hair were drawn over the picture, and he recalled exactly how windy it had been the day. They had spent it in the park with Sam and Gilly, who had taken the picture much to Ygritte's complaints. He had never even known she owned a copy of it.

 

_That was a nice day_. Her voice pulled him out of the deep and vivid memories – the sound of her laughter, the lingering taste of ice cream on her lips, the way her hands had been warmed by the sun and how delicately they had circled around his neck.

 

Ygritte smiled, following his gaze towards the photograph. He gladly took the steaming cup of tea she held out towards him. _It was. Thanks_. For a moment, they stood there in silence, both lost in the imagery and memories of a summer's day long gone, of an effortlessness they must have lost somewhere along the way. He remembered carrying her on his shoulders that day, her arms reaching for the tree under which they had spread out their blanket, cursing when he almost lost his balance. The playfulness they had shared, it seemed all gone now. Drained away and forgotten. The silence between them was sincere and serious, both of them carefully stepping around shards of broken glass and splinters of ice that were all that was left of them.

 

_How are you holding up?_ The pain caused by the hot tea stung less than the hesitation in her question. That wall between them was still there, and whatever had happened that night after Robb's funeral had changed little about it.

 

_Fine, I suppose._ He shrugged, setting down the cup next to a bowl of porridge she had not finished. _Have to be._

 

_No, you don't._ It was the sudden tenderness in her voice that caught Jon's attention, the way her features unexpectedly softened. She reached out her hand to rest it upon his forearm, squeezing lightly before dropping her hand again as if the touch had burned her palm the way his had been burned. _You've got every right not to be fine._

 

Perhaps he did. Inside of him, everything was constantly on fire, burning, screaming, tearing at him, numbing him – so much he could hardly remember how it felt to be at peace, to be happy or content. _I will be_. The wish to talk about it all was small, for what good could words do? They had never changed anything. _How are you doing? We never really got a chance to talk._ He still saw the lights of her car disappearing around the corner that night, red glowing in the dark, the warmth of her kiss lingering on his lips. _Gilly says there's some trouble at the shop?_

 

Perhaps staying away from all the things that really mattered was what they needed to break the ice. Half an hour later, as the world outside was beginning to darken, the sky turning from pale blue to a greyish colour, they were sitting cross-legged on the floor, and Ygritte laughed heartily as he finished the story of how Robb and Theon had once found Jon in a room with Theon's naked girlfriend Ros.

 

_I can't believe you never told me that,_ she gasped, tears glistening in her eyes. The sight of her took his breath away and lightened the weight that rested on his shoulders. Two days ago, the mere thought of Robb had pained like a stab in the back, but now he talked about him freely, all the good memories conjuring a smile upon his face.

 

He nudged her knee playfully with his fist. _I never would've heard the end of it._ She raised her eyebrows at his words, but he could see that she knew exactly how right he was.

 

Slowly, their laughter died down. Jon could feel it in his stomach, muscles he had not used for a long time, a dull ache and a sharp pain in his cheeks, uncomfortable but welcome. Ygritte was taking him in, her eyes lingering on his, a faint blush creeping into her cheeks.

 

_I'm glad you came_. She seemed uncharacteristically nervous, drumming her fingers against her knee – the same place he had touched her just a minute ago, he noticed. It made him wonder if she could feel the echo of his touch the same way he still tasted her on his lips. _I wasn't sure what to say._

 

_I still don't know what to say._ The admission was painful – whether it hurt to admit it out loud to himself or to admit it in front of her, he was not sure. It was audible in his voice, the way the words broke towards the end, it was visible in his posture, the way his shoulders hunched and his eyes dropped to the ground. Between them, the fuzzy wool of a new rug stood out in bright purple and orange, and his fingers ran over the rough texture, feeling every ridge.

 

Her hand appeared out of nowhere, for quite a while doing nothing but mirroring his own movements, fingers trailing along the ruffles of the rug, and he noticed the chipped blue nail polish, how dry the skin on her knuckles was and how slow her movements were. He felt it, too, when she slowly slipped her hand into his own, cold skin against the scars of his palm, and when she spoke, her voice was a trembling whisper. _I missed you._

 

Looking up, he realized how much closer to him she was than he had expected. Still, even as he reached out to cup her cheek, feel her skin fluster beneath the chaste touch, even as he leaned in closer until her breath was damp against his cheek and the tears turned to crystals in her eyes, he could still see the wall between them, sparkling like ice, radiating cold and distance. _I missed you, too._ He knew she could feel his words rather than hear them, his lips brushing over hers, trembling from both the chill and the fear. _I miss you so much_.

 

.:.

 

It was a losing battle, and they both knew, but they both tried to take things back to the way they both remembered them to be. He sat in his window seat in the coffee shop and watched her as she worked, smiled when she brought him another cup of tea, entangled his fingers gently with hers when he took the cup from her hand. She took him home sometimes, loud music blaring from the speakers in her car as the stuffed bear danced wildly and the wind ruffled Jon's hair.

 

Most nights, though, she pulled him through her own front door, fingers sweaty and needy when they sifted through his hair and her voice crumbling as she whispered his name like a broken chant.

 

It was the same today, their clothes leaving a colourful trail through her living room, the bedroom door kicked wide open, and the afternoon sun leaving speckles of light on the white sheets beneath them. Ygritte's naked body pressed into his side, her fingers dancing along his stomach, tickling him. Their breathing had notably slowed down, and Jon felt dozy and calm, drawing his fingers up and down Ygritte's spine.

 

She was warm against him, sighing softly at his touch, pressing a kiss against his shoulder. It felt as though he was drowning in one of his memories, amplified and so much more vivid than they ever had been.

 

They had not spoken since she had pushed him onto her bed – unmade as usual, the countless cushions scattered all over the place - but lately, words had seemed to lose their importance, all the weight they had once carried. The silence between them was growing as rapidly as their dependence on one another, the need to be close, as close as possible. Jon knew is was a bad thing, that instead of pulling her closer into his side and entangling his legs with hers, they should talk, open up about why, no matter how hard they tried, things simply were nothing like they remembered them to be.

 

Jon felt the need for a hot shower creeping up, but to just lay here with Ygritte in his arms was too wonderful a moment to end. She was still in his arms now, her palm resting flat against his stomach as it rose and sank with each steady breath he took.

 

_I was pregnant._ Her words cut through the silence like lightning, unexpected, voice crumbling as it struggled to form the words. Jon heard them, heard their echo in his mind, felt the way she was suddenly stiffened in his arms.

 

He heard, but he did not understand. _What?_

 

For a few breaths, breaths that burned in his throat like the fire that had scarred his hand, nothing happened. Ygritte stayed immobile in his arms, and he himself felt petrified, unable to move or speak any more than the one dull question. Then she sighed, a quiet sigh filled with sadness. Slowly, she sat up, the sun shining brightly against her bare skin. Her face was turned away from him, so that all he could see was the bridge of her nose and her trembling lips, the rest of her face hidden beneath cascading waves of red hair.

 

_I found out a few weeks before... before you left. Took a whole bunch of tests and the whole damn lot of them was positive._ She sounded as though she had thought about these words for a long time, perhaps since the night he had stumbled back into her life, grieving and cold. Perhaps even before that. But she also sounded angry, the quiver of it running through her entire body. He saw it in the way she pulled her knees against her chest and in the white of her knuckle when she pressed her fists against her shins. _I was s_ _o fucking scared. That wasn't supposed to happen and we'd just been going out for a few months and we're just kids, Jon, we're not..._

 

He could feel the weight of her words, the realization dawning on him slowly, like a cold rush of water down his back. It was the answer to all his questions, but he still could not understand. She had been pregnant. She had carried his child. Carried. Past tense. His mind ran wild, and he sat up straight against the wall behind her bed, suddenly feeling cold and restless, when just minutes before he had felt warm and at peace.

 

_I know I should've told you._ Finally, she turned to look at him, her eyes red but dry, fear and anger and defeat written plainly across her suddenly sickly pale face. _I wanted to, but that freaked me out even more._ He stared, it was all he could do as her voice broke down to a hesitant whisper. _I was scared you'd be mad and leave and I was scared you'd be happy and get all excited and I didn't know what I even wanted._ Desperately, Jon tried to remember, to fish for any clue he could find in those dark memories that accompanied the last days of their relationship, the last summer he had both longed to forget and engrave into his heart. How she had slipped away from him, how everything had suddenly changed. _I was awful to you, and I'm sorry. But I was so..._ Her fingers fell limply down onto the sheet, his eyes following the sad motion. He had never known, he had been angry at her, and he had run away. _And then you left._

 

There was not the slightest tone of accusation in her voice, she simply stated the sad fact. He could not have known, but now his decision cut through him like knifes. Hastily, he leaned forward and grabbed her hands, shocked at how cold they suddenly felt, how small and fragile, how she wanted to pull away. But he would not let her, not this time. _I never would have left had I known-_

 

_I know_ , she interrupted him, suddenly grasping his hand so tightly it hurt. _After, I knew I needed to tell you, but I..._ She seemed as though she had no idea how to put into words the turmoil of emotions that must have gone through her head back then, and he cursed all the gods for not giving him more strength, more common sense, for not having been there to carry the weight with her. _I just wanted to get things sorted out. With work and classes, and I was looking for a bigger flat cause – I needed a plan, something to... Before I told you._ He heard the words she did not speak. The lack of money she did not mention, the broken pipes in her bathroom she left out, everything that had always stood between them, always.

 

_Nobody knew. And then..._ The breath she took was a shuddering one, and pain shot like poison through his veins when she wiped away a tear that had fought its way from her eye. Despite the utter storm inside of him – a mixture of confusion (because how could she have been pregnant and how could he have not known?) and sadness (because she was crying, and there was nothing he could do) and anger (what right did she have to keep this from him, no matter how scared she had been?) – he reached out with his free hand, fingers trailing soothingly up her arm until they sank into the thick curls of her hair.

 

_The stairs at work, the ones out to the yard..._ She leaned into his touch, but he felt the way her shoulders stiffened, and deep down, he knew what she was about to say.

 

He had walked those stairs a hundred times, the last time just a few hours ago, and each pebble, each step, was engraved into his memory. _It was so cold and they were icy and there's nothing to hold on to there and it was dark and the fucking light is broken and then I..._ It was hard to understand anything of what she stuttered, voice quiet and too fast, and he pulled her against him when she suddenly grew silent, leaving the finality of her secret unspoken.

 

Ygritte sank into his embrace, her hands clinging to his shoulders. The warmth of her tears felt sick and wrong against his bare chest, but he held her tightly to him, anyway. _And I couldn't tell you then_ , she murmured, her lips moving lightly against his skin. Her voice was steadier now, but the tears kept flowing. _I just couldn't_. He spread the fingers of his burned hand against her back, splaying them like a star against her spine, and she shuddered. _I'm so sorry._

 

Neither of them spoke for a long time. Ygritte seemed to have lost her voice, growing quiet and still in his arms once more. Jon, on the other hand, felt his heart and brain threatening to burst, attempting to process everything she had just told him. He felt angrier at her than ever before, but all the white hot heat of it was wiped away by the unbearable feeling of loss. It rested heavily in his chest, the realization that he had lost a child without ever knowing of its existence. Without ever having looked forward to meeting his son or daughter, without having whispered against Ygritte's swollen belly how much he loved the little creature in there. He felt cheated out of it all, even the pain of losing the child. Their child.

 

Still, as large a part the anger and grief took up in him, he only held Ygritte tighter when he had to accept that she had gone through all of it herself, all alone without anyone there to hold her hand. He remembered Tormund's words, and in this moment, when she was so vulnerable and broken in his arms, he realized, for the first time, how true they had been. She was not as strong as she wanted him to believe, and he should have been there to help her, to share the pain. He should have been given at least the chance to make things right.

 

_When?_ His question filled the silence around them. It was a dull one, for what good did it bring to know? But he needed to know, and Ygritte seemed grateful for the quiet tone of his voice.

 

_Christmas._ Bright and colourful lights flickered behind his closed eyes, mingling there with tears he fought so hard not to shed.

 

_Ygritte_ , he whispered, pressing a kiss against her temple that was much more urgent than he felt he still had the strength for. The warmth of his tears as they finally spilled and raced down his cheeks was all-consuming. The idea of a child had seldom crossed his mind (and if it had, only the decisive knowledge that he would never bring a child into this world the way his father had), but the loss of one was more than he felt he could take.

 

_Tormund wanted to kill you_ , Ygritte said quietly, adjusting her position in his arms, the cold tips of her fingers trailing down to grip his arms. _I was in the hospital for a few days, so I couldn't really hide it from him any more. He thought you'd left me cause I was pregnant._ Jon finally gathered the courage to look down, saw her eyes glistening with tears when she looked up in return. Her words were almost stoic, lacking all emotion, and he wanted to shake her awake, find the girl he had loved and lost. She must still be in there somewhere, he needed to believe that. _Said he'd pull your guts out through your throat. Took me a while to calm him down._

 

The words rang familiar in Jon's memory, and the _thanks_ he muttered was more of a husky murmur. But as soon as the simple word made room for silence, their eyes met again, and for no reason they could grasp, they started laughing. It was a laughter so unlike them, too loud and too shrill, but after the tears and the silence, the months of longing, pain and forgetting, what else was left for them to do? They laughed until their stomach ached, more tears spilling over and covering skin in salty tracks, but eventually, as the sun outside began to glow orange, their breathing slowed down, and silence took over once more.

 

Jon looked down at Ygritte, his hand brushing through her hair until it cupped her cheek. She fought to keep her eyes fixed upon his, the lids flickering nervously, long lashes casting slight shadows. But she responded to his touch the way she always had, leaning into it, exhaling with a soft sigh.

 

_How far along were you?_ The question hurt as much as any thought on the matter, but he asked it anyway, brushing his thumb quickly across her upper lip, along the line of her jaw, following her cheekbone until he stopped, simply feeling her soft skin, imagining a time when looking at her alone had filled his heart with happiness.

 

_Six months_. Deep in her eyes, he saw everything that could have been, everything she had refused to share, everything the world had taken from them, and he wondered if there was even the slightest chance for them now. A chance for forgiveness and redemption, for overcoming all the barriers they had ignored for too long.

 

Ygritte leaned forward to press her lips against his, a touch so chaste he felt she might be afraid of his rejection. But he could never lean away, not any more, so he kissed her back with equal softness, until she pulled away far enough for her lips to form words, quivering against his as she took his face in her hands. _It was a boy._

 

.:.

 

Ygritte could not seem to forget, and Jon was not sure he could ever forgive her, but he could not blame her, either, for any choices she had made, and so the odd and unfamiliar thing between them continued quietly, eating him up from the inside.

 

They saw each other more often than not, and when Gilly moved into Sam's room (some ugly business with her father, but Sam told him it was a tricky subject and so Jon never asked any further), Jon began to feel as if he'd moved into Ygritte's flat permanently. He was there even when she was gone for one of her classes, making dinner, cleaning, doing anything to pass the time when he was not studying himself. But the small flat was suffocating him, drowning him in _her_ , and when she was there, he felt the way she dug her nails into him, just as scared to lose him, just as exhausted by his presence.

 

Sam asked him once if they were back together. Jon wanted to know the answer more than anything, but he simply did not know. He knew nothing, only that he loved her. But for some reason, he also knew it still was not enough.

 

It had not been enough to make him realize what went wrong, had not been enough for her to trust him enough to open up, to share her secret. It had not been enough to make him stay.

 

Their son had a name, but Jon did not have the heart to hear it, and so Ygritte kept it to herself. Their son had a grave, but the thought of visiting was too much for Jon to bear. It felt as if the world was falling apart around him, and not even Ygritte could hold it together any more.

 

After a few days, neither of them brought up their dead son again, the strain of guilt and blame too heavy on the bond they only just now were beginning to form again. But with the burden of past mistakes and an uncertain future looming above them, Jon wondered if it was a futile attempt.

 

Most nights, he lay awake with Ygritte curled into his side. For a fleeting moment, he was able to pretend that everything was right again. It almost felt the way it had last year, but when he closed his eyes and listened to his heart, he knew that it was not, that it was a lie they told themselves.

 

Once, Jon had thought that being with Ygritte was not difficult. That it was easy, comfortable, like breathing. That it was him and Ygritte, and everything else faded away when he was with her. That there was no rich and poor, high and low, good and bad.

 

He had been wrong. It was what they tried to tell themselves, what they both so desperately wanted, why Ygritte kissed him so fiercely, whispering in his ear _you are mine and I am yours._ It was why they kept clashing and fighting.

 

One night, as she was propped up against the side of her bed with a book in one hand while the other rubbed lazy circles on Ghost's belly, Jon considered ending it all for good. The future he had once imagined for them – shy pictures his mind had painted in those lovely hours when she'd smile at him and kiss him softly, crawled under his skin and whispered huskily in his ear, discussed and yelled and thrown things at him only to burst out laughing a minute later – that future was gone. He could see it no more when he watched her study, could hear it no more when she told him things, could feel it no more when he touched her.

 

He had been brave enough to walk away once before - or had it been cowardice? He was not so sure any more. What would it take to do it again? To leave behind the shattered remains that had once been alive and vivid and beautiful?

 

It was Ygritte that held him back. Between them, the spite and exhaustion grew and grew, but she was still the girl he had dragged through the snow and went looking for in the hospital although he had barely known her. Even back then, she had touched something buried deep down inside of him, and she still clung to that vulnerable spot.

 

He clearly remembered his life before he had met her, his life without her after he had walked away. Neither was better than life right now, treading on eggshells until they fell into each other's arms to forget the ruins of their relationship for a little while.

 

She still made him a better person, and he could not let that go.

 

So, he stayed. He sank down onto the floor next to her, patting Ghost's head before sliding his hands around Ygritte's waist, brushing his lips against the shell of her ear. _I love you_. In that moment, when he felt her smile against his cheek and gladly met her lips in a soft kiss, he decided he would never leave her again, not until she told him to.

 

.:.

 

When he got the call, he had already been asleep, the buzzing of his phone next to his head stirring him awake, and he frowned at the unknown number. One glance at the alarm clock told him it was past one in the morning, and he briefly considered ignoring the call.

 

It kept ringing, however, and so Jon sat up in bed, the sheets dropping down to his waist, and picked up the phone. Ygritte's voice sounded annoyed as she matter-of-factly explained to him what had happened, why he now had to climb out of bed to fumble for his jeans and shirt in the dark of her bedroom (he had wanted to buy new light bulbs days ago) and drive her car down to the police station.

 

The drive took him almost an hour, night time repair works blocking the street, and so he steered Ygritte's car towards the edge of town, through a dark stretch of forest, until the lights of the apartment buildings came back into view.

 

As he scrambled out of the car, his head pounding and vaguely registering that he put his shirt on the wrong way, Jon crossed the parking lot in front of the police station, anger flaring up inside of him.

 

Only hours before, Ygritte had told him that she would spend the night at her friend Val's place, studying for the test they both knew they'd fail, and that he should not expect her to be back before morning. Instead, and he wanted to curse himself for believing her, she had gotten herself arrested. On the phone, she had given him only a few answers, and so Jon's eyes widened in disbelief when the tired-looking police officer with the pale moustache told him what kind of trouble she had gotten herself into.

 

_You seriously broke into our library and trashed the place?_ He asked as he watched the officer take off her handcuffs. Her face barely reacted to his words, hair tied back, exposing an ugly bruise forming around her left eye.

 

_I didn't trash nothing_ , she replied with a shrug, massaging her wrists where the handcuffs had left behind ugly red lines. _That was Orell._

 

It took nearly another hour for the papers to be worked through, and Jon felt the bright white lights of the station burning holes into his head. All the while, Ygritte sat in one of the ugly green chairs in the hallway, legs and arms crossed, face stoic. His eyes flickered towards her over and over as the officer talked, and he could see clearly how little she cared.

 

_That's some girlfriend you've got there, son_ , the officer with the moustache told him when they were finally making their way to the front door. _Better keep an eye on her._

 

She got into the car without a comment, turning away from him the moment he started the engine. It was still dark outside, the stars hidden from their sight by the clouds and the bright lights of the city. Empty bottles rattled against the floor when Jon backed out of the parking lot, and for the longest time, it was the only sound that could be heard.

 

They quickly left the mostly empty streets behind them, and darkness took over when the forest surrounding the city came into view. The street was narrow, the car's headlights throwing long and blinding rays of light. Jon felt the heaviness of the silence wearing him out, and he turned briefly to look at Ygritte.

 

She still sat there with her arms crossed, looking out of the window into the darkness of the night. Her face looked tired, but the expression of disappointment was hard to cover up.

 

Jon sighed, turning his gaze back towards the empty road. _One of these days, it's going to escalate. You're just going to get hurt._ He tried hard not to pass any judgement – he knew how important the matter was to her, had tried hard to support her and see the issue through her eyes. But now she had taken a step too far, and to maintain a neutral edge to his voice was a fight Jon was almost too tired to take on.

 

From his peripheral vision, Jon could see Ygritte turning to look at him. When she finally spoke, her voice was as indifferent as it had been back at the station, as though she blatantly ignored the implications and consequences of what she had done. _Well, if that's what it takes to finally get what we deserve-_

 

_Ygritte, can you even hear yourself?_ The words tumbled out of Jon's mouth, due to a fatal mixture of fatigue, anger and fear. She was brave, and he admired her strength to stand up and fight for her cause, a cause she and her friends had every right to fight for. But he started to see just how far she was willing to go, what sacrifices she was willing to make, and the realization scared him.

 

_I can hear just fine, Jon_ , she spit back, his name like venom as it echoed in the car. _You're the one who isn't listening. Who does nothing._

 

Once more, they seemed to have circled back to this, to the fact that he had privileges that should not be privileges but everyone's right, and Jon angrily gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles pressing painfully against taut skin. _Is it so hard to understand that I don't want you to get hurt?_ He thought it was an easy concept to understand, hoped that she cared about him enough to be scared for his safety, as well. But when he looked at her, he saw nothing in her eyes but resentment. _Everything is fucked up enough._

 

_And what are we supposed to do about that?_ Ygritte asked, voice suddenly more quiet. The words were lined with blame and accusation, and Jon knew that this was the one fight they had avoided for months now. The one that mattered. She dropped her hands into her lap, fingers curling into fists. _Get married and have kids and buy a fucking house?_

 

Jon allowed his eyes to fall shut for a moment, taking a deep breath to calm the rage that was beginning to boil inside of him. _I'd do all that if I knew it could fix things._ His words were louder than he intended, but he was sick and tired of fighting for them, of watching them crumble into dust, and her words – the mockery, as if the mere thought of spending her future with him was a hilarity – cut deep. _But I don't know how to fix us. So, please. Tell me_. He knew she did not actually mean to hurt him, because he had seen the way she looked whenever they fought, had seen the tears she would not shed, had heard the stumble in her voice, had felt the way she kissed him more fiercely and grasped his hand more tightly. She wanted this to end as little as he did, and it made her words all the more painful to him. _How do we fix it?_

 

She was quiet for a while, and slowly, Jon could see the familiar sadness creeping back into her eyes. It was hard to see in the darkness of the car, but he knew it was there, could feel the chill of it even before she spoke. _I don't know what got broken._

 

_You should have told me_ , he said quietly, dreading to say the words, but it was the truth. She sat up straight in her seat, and when Jon saw her hair fall down over her shoulder – her hair long since pulled out of the pony tail – and her lower lip disappearing between her crooked teeth, he wondered briefly if their son would have had red hair like hers. He never thought about it before, and it surprised him now that the images danced through his mind in a sick and morbid formation.

 

_Now it all comes back to this?_ She sounded almost afraid.

 

_Of course it does_ , Jon said too loudly, but it was all too late now anyway, and what was the point of holding back his frustration? His pain? _You were bloody pregnant and didn't tell me._ He could see her flinching, turning her face away from him. _We have a son, Ygritte. A son._

 

She swallowed, her throat moving delicately when she did, and when she turned to look at him, he saw what she tried so hard to hide. Her own regrets, her own pain. _We don't_ , she whispered, as if saying it somehow made it true when it was not.

 

_Yes, we do_. He saw him now, so clearly, the little boy with the flaming red hair and his own grey eyes. He was laughing in Jon's imagination, happy in a way he himself had never been. Somehow, the thought did not hurt as much as he had expected.

 

_I said I'm sorry_ , Ygritte spat out, not ready. Not ready to talk about the loss she had not allowed him to share with her, not ready to paint pictures of what could have been. She might not ever be ready, and Jon began to wonder what that meant for them. For their future.

 

_Bloody hell, I know you are_ , he said, fed up with excuses. More than enough excuses he was already making up by himself, whenever he told himself that they still had a chance or that he was not angry. The last thing he needed was for Ygritte to keep apologizing when it changed nothing about anything. Not any more.

 

_You know nothing_. The old words sounded different now, and Jon felt her slipping away from him. _It was all fucked up before I even told you. It was always fucked up. You're a crow just like the rest of them, and you never stopped being one._

 

The silence was deafening. _I do know some things_ , Jon murmured, the feeling of everything falling apart, slipping through his fingers like ash, throbbing painfully in his chest. He looked at her then, really looked, searched for the spirit he had once found in her blue eyes, for the fire burning inside of her that had enlightened him. _I know I love you. I know you-_

 

Neither of them saw the car coming towards them until the headlights were so bright that all the world around them disappeared in a flash.

 

.:.

 

White. Everything was white before everything turned black.

 

Jon barely felt the pain of his broken leg or the dull throbbing of the wound on the back of his head. He did not realize that the other car was long gone, either. Nothing hurt when he wrenched open the car's door. It had flipped, laying on its side, and when Jon pulled Ygritte out onto the street, all he noticed was the warm stickiness of her blood coating his palm.

 

In that moment, when he dragged himself away from the wrecked car, pressing Ygritte's immobile body against his own, he did not even spend a moment's thought on how long he had been unconscious. Nothing passed his mind, and he heard nothing except for a dull throbbing sound that drove him mad.

 

Jon did not even really know what had happened. All he remembered was sad eyes and a bright light, a noise so deafening he could still feel the vibrations of it under his skin.

 

Too exhausted to crawl any further, he cradled her in his arms, supporting her head, feeling his heart drumming so violently against his ribcage that he thought the bones might shatter. Slowly, her eyes flickered open, her ragged breathing amplified in the dead quiet of the night.

 

_Jon_ , she murmured, almost smiling, but all Jon could see was the blood that coated her teeth and ran across her lips. All he could feel was the way she shivered in his arms. All he could hear was the sound of her breathing, slow and aching.

 

With trembling fingers, he wiped away the blood that trickled from her mouth, searching her body for any harm, but he saw nothing, found nothing broken, but still felt her shattered in his arms.

 

_Hush, don't talk_. It was a silly thing to tell her, as if she had ever shut her mouth. But he heard the way her lungs fought for air, and even though his mind was still circling and fighting to grasp what was happening, something told Jon that she was slipping away, that she needed to be quiet now.

 

Ygritte coughed, more blood coating her lips, and Jon pressed her more tightly into his chest. Dimly, somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered the phone he had left on his bed after she had called him to pick her up from the police station. That moment now seemed centuries ago. Just as long a go as that trip up North, when her lips had been blue instead of crimson, when he had held her just as tightly.

 

_Do you remember that cave?_ Her voice sounded so much softer than he had ever heard her speak before, and all echoes of their fight in the car that were slowly coming back to him suddenly seemed foolish and utterly meaningless. What did it all matter now? When had it all ever mattered?He nodded, the memories of that weekend so vivid in his mind as if it had been yesterday. How happy she had been, the utter peace that had warmed him from the inside, how he had realized that he loved her back then. Everything had been perfect, one last time, before it had all burned into ash. _We should have stayed in that cave._

 

_We'll go back there_ , he said quietly, the few words full of promise. He meant every single one of them, saw themselves up there in the warmth and dim light of the cave, all the happiness they had left behind there ready to light up this darkness.

 

A true smile curled Ygritte's lips, sad but peaceful, and for that brief moment before she spoke, Jon forgot all about the blood and the ugly sound of the air fighting its way into her lungs. Slowly, she raised her hand, cold and delicate, fingers pressing softly against his cheek. _You know nothing, Jon Stark._

 

Her arm dropped limply into the small space between them before her words had truly faded into silence, and Jon still felt the echo of her touch on his skin when he looked into her empty blue eyes.

 

When they found him by the side of the road an hour later, it was still dark and cold, the stars hidden under heavy clouds. He was cradling Ygritte's dead body in his arms, lips pressed against her cold forehead, muttering the same words over and over. _You were right_. _You were right_. _You were right_.

 

They tried to pry her away from him, but his fingers only held on tighter, silent tears dripping onto her pale skin.

 

.:.

 

Tormund's eyes were strangely dull, no hints of tears or redness as he sat down a cup of tea on the table.

 

Jon could barely breathe, his tie strangling him. He knew Ygritte would not have cared if he'd come to her funeral in pyjamas, but it felt right. Something about wearing the black suit he had worn to Robb's funeral, and his father's before that felt right.

 

His crutches were propped up against the chair, and Jon nearly knocked them down when he reached for the tea. The white cup was painfully hot, but the feeling of it against his palm was soothing. It was a distraction he was grateful for.

 

He could neither look at Tormund for too long nor risk his eyes dropping down to the stuffed bear on the table between them. Everything would come rushing back if he did look. The blood, the pain, the cold.

 

A large part of him wanted to get out of this house as quickly as his ruined leg allowed him. Sam was at home with Arya and Gilly, and while all Jon really wanted was to be alone, he preferred their company to Tormund's. The man had been dead quiet all day, had stood next to Ygritte's grave in his worn suit like a statue, not muttering a word. He did not know the man well enough to understand him, but what Jon did understand was his loss. It was a loss larger and more profound than his own, and even his own Jon could barely take.

 

_Did you love her?_ Tormund's deep voice broke through the silence, and Jon still could not look up, especially not when he finally heard the tremble of grief behind the few spoken words. Had he loved her? Of course he had. He still loved her, but he could not say the words now, not when she was dead and gone and buried beneath the cold earth. He could not say the words when he could never speak them to her again. _She loved you._

 

At this, Jon finally looked up. When he took in Tormund's face, all the softness Ygritte had always seen in the man's harsh features suddenly dawned on him, and he wondered why he had never understood it before. _She told you?_ She had never told him, had smiled at him and kissed him whenever he spoke the words, and he knew, deep down, that she had loved him as much as he loved her. But still, he had never heard those three words slip past her lips, and it filled him with an uncertainty almost larger than his grief.

 

_No._ Tormund gave him a sad smile, twisted and chilling Jon to the core. Over the man's shoulder, he could see the various pictures on the wall. The biggest of them all, framed and in the centre of all others, was the same Ygritte had kept in her purse. The tiny red-haired girl on Tormund's lap with the six candles of her birthday cake glowing brightly, a smile so wide on both of their faces that it lit up the picture. _But she never shut up about you. That's how I know._

 

Jon wanted to believe it more than anything.

 

.:.

 

She is still here, in everything he sees. She is the red of the sun when it sets and rises. She is the warmth of the flame on the birthday cake Arya makes him a year later. She is the blue of the ocean when he sits on the beach and stares at the horizon.

 

She is the pride he feels when he graduates. She is the white of the dress that Gilly wears when she marries Sam. She is the joy when Jon holds their baby boy – his godson – for the first time. She is the laughter of his friends. She is the sense of accomplishment when Castle Black's library is opened for the public.

 

She is everywhere, and very slowly, it stops being painful.

 

In his dreams he can see her sometimes, hair replaced by flickering flames against the blue horizon. She burns before his eyes every time and there is nothing he can do, hands frozen and helpless, but she always smiles. A soft smile that lights up her face, as if everything is alright and happening the way it was meant to.

 

Snow crunches beneath him when Jon kneels down in front of her grave, the stone shimmering as the sun reflects from the icy, frozen surface, like diamonds. He quietly rests the blue flower against the pale stone, just as he does every Friday. The blue petals stand out against the white snow, and when Jon stands up again, he finds it the brightest colour around.

 

He never talks to her, has never believed that the dead can hear the living. He never stays long, either, only brings her the flower he hopes she would have liked. Most likely, she'd have laughed at him, asked him to call her his lady. But even that thought makes him smile now.

 

His fingers are cold, and he can still feel the sudden drop of temperature in his bad leg. It is the only token he has from that night when the stars had faded along with her. A dull ache when the weather changes, a pinch when he walks too many steps or marches down the street too briskly.

 

Steam forms in front of his lips when he exhales, and Jon's eyes wander away towards a line of trees in the distance, covered with glistening snow, sheltering more graves.

 

There is one there he still has not dared to visit. But today, he brushes his fingers across the delicate and soft petals of the second flower in his hand, and slowly walks towards the trees, listening to the melody of crunching snow and ice beneath his feet.

 

. : the end : .

 


End file.
